


Anagnorisis

by WanderingAlice



Series: Anagnorisis [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, M/M, Mentions of past suicide, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-24 03:44:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1590476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, they’ll always find each other when they need it the most.</p>
<p>Or, Steve and Sam chase Bucky across America, while Tony cheers them on. At least, until Steve gets hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unlike the other parts of this series, the final two parts are chapter-fic. My aim is to get this one finished by the end of the month, so chapters should be appearing on a semi-regular basis (but don't ask me to set an update day. May is busy as hell!) 
> 
> This is part of the series Anagnorisis. The other parts are not necessary to understand this one, though it would make me extremely happy if you read them. However, events from Cognate, Aposiopesis, Chthonic, and Verisimilitude are referenced in various chapters.
> 
> Please enjoy!

The man who was no longer the Winter Soldier ended up in a bar somewhere along the Potomac. It didn’t really matter where, it was just the last place they were likely to look for him. As the Soldier, he hadn’t frequented bars unless it was for a mission. Now… now he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything anymore. All he had was flashes of memory, disjointed, painful. And a sense of loss so great he wanted to rip his heart right out of his chest. He didn’t even know what he’d lost.

“You look like you need a drink.” Someone set something down in front of him. He looked up. The bartender was staring at him with a half-smile, gesturing to the glass she’d put on the bar. “On the house. It’s just rum and coke, but it’s a sure sight better than seeing you staring at that placemat like it had the answer to the universe written on it.”

“What?” He was supposed to say something. Smile at her, and say something about how pretty she was. Thank her. Something smooth that would make her giggle and blush.

“You, sir, are one sad looking puppy. That,” she pointed to the drink, “may not be the cure for everything, but it might help take the edge off.”

“Why?” the man who wasn’t the Winter Soldier asked, even more confused. It had been a very long time since anyone had given him anything.

The bartender leaned down and grabbed a glass and a rag from under the bar. “You look like you need it. Where’d you serve?”

He stared at her for a minute, lost. She sighed. “You’re a soldier, right? Where were you deployed?”

“How-?” He could only seem to manage one-word sentences. The girl chuckled.

“How could I tell you’re a soldier? Well, for a start, that ain’t civilian-grade.” She pointed to his metal arm. “For a second, we get a lot of soldiers in here. You start to be able to tell, and you look like you just got back from war. Afghanistan or Iraq?”

He frowned. How to answer? He could just ignore her, but… she was talking to him like a real person. Nobody had talked to him like he was a person in so long.

“Seemed like everywhere,” he finally told her.

“It speaks! Good. I was afraid all I was gonna get was one-syllable answers. What’s your name, soldier?”

The ‘soldier’ threw him off. Whenever any of his handlers had referred to him, they had just called him the Soldier, or the asset. He hated it.

“Don’t call me that!” he snapped. She shrugged.

“Sure. Don’t bite my head off. What do I call you, then?”

The man who wasn’t the soldier was lost. He didn’t have a name. He was a tool, a puppet, something to be used and then stored away until it was needed again. He didn’t have a name. But… in the memories he shouldn’t have, he had one. The man with the shield had told him his name. It was… but no. That name belonged to a man, not a tool.

“Hello? Didya forget your name?”

He looked back up at the bartender, who pushed the glass of rum and coke closer to him. “I-” He wasn’t the soldier anymore. He could be a man, have a name. What name? He _wanted_ the name the man with the shield had given him, but he still wasn’t sure that name really belonged to him.

“What do your friends call you?” the bartender asked, more kindly than he’d been spoken to in a long while.

_My friends call me Bucky_. “Bucky. My friends call me Bucky.”

“Well, Bucky, I’m Maria. Good to meet you.” She put down the glass she had been cleaning and extended a hand. Bucky took it and shook it. She winced and shook it out when he released it. “Man, you have a grip on you!”

“Sorry,” he said, and felt guilty. That seemed like the only emotion he was capable of at the moment. Guilty over hurting her hand, guilty over hurting the man with the shield. Guilty over leaving him.

“Heh, don’t be. It’s a good thing. So what brings you in here tonight? No offense, but you look kind of like death.”

The truth spilled from his lips before he could think of a convincing lie. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Oh. That’s rough. You got a place to sleep tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

A peculiar look crossed her face. The part of him that might just really be Bucky recognized it as pity. “Well, I’ve got a buddy over at the VA, maybe he could… help… holy shit.” Her eyes had gone wide, staring at the door behind him.

“Well, if it isn’t the Winter Snowcone himself,” came a voice from behind. The man turned. Standing there was a man in a very expensive suit, watching the soldier with something of a wary curiosity. Memory hit.

_Dark eyes staring at Steve. Proprietary, like Steve was his. “You know, I never did get a chance to see how well Rebirth worked before you were off running after that spy. I have to say, we did a great job.” He wanted to hit him. Damn Stark._

And another.

_Dark eyes staring up at him. A flash of recognition, sorrow. He pulled the trigger._

“Howard.”

The newcomer’s eyes danced. “Wrong. But I suppose I can forgive the mistake. Cap _did_ say I look a lot like my dad. Name’s Tony. It’s good to see you do have some of your memory back.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, the weight of his guilt behind his words. He hadn’t particularly liked Howard, but the man hadn’t deserved to be killed.

“Don’t sweat it,” Howard’s son said, clapping him on the shoulder. The man who had been the Winter Soldier grabbed the hand and threw him to the ground.

“Oh hell. Sorry! Sorry.” Bucky knelt down, offering Stark his hand.

“No worries big guy. I forgot you were probably on a hair-trigger.” Stark took the offered hand, pulling himself back up. The bartender was watching them both with eyes the size of dinner plates.

“Sorry, miss. Do you have a place I can talk with my friend here? In private?”

“Uh. Yeah. Yes. Sorry. Right away, Mr. Stark.” She ducked under the counter. “We don’t have anyone in the party room tonight. Will that be alright?”

“That’ll be fine,” Stark told her, entering the room she showed them to without a second glance at her. Bucky gave her a small smile.

“Thanks for the drink,” he said. “It helped.”

“A- any time.” Her smile trembled a little, and she stared at Stark, obviously star-struck. Stark closed the door.

“Well. Now that we’re alone, let’s get down to business. How much do you remember?” The genial demeanor was gone, replaced by steely seriousness.

“Not a whole lot,” Bucky told him. “It comes in bits and pieces. I didn’t remember Howard until you walked in.”

“What about Steve?” Stark was frowning at him. “Do you remember Steve?”

“Some.” _A crushing sense of loss. Bright eyes and a honey-sweet smile. A weak pulse under his fingers. A voice singing Danny Boy._ _‘Till the end of the line._

“And yourself?”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” he tested the name out. It fit, like something sliding into place. A puzzle piece. One of many.

“Yeah, that’s right. What else.”

Bucky looked right at Stark, meeting his eyes. He could only hold his gaze for a few seconds before he had to look away. “Not much. I was… a sniper. I protected Steve.”

Stark sat down at the table. “Do you want to know more?”

Bucky thought about it. “Will you tell Steve where I am?” He didn’t think he could bear for Steve to find him right now. He needed to put the puzzle of his mind back together first. Needed to actually remember Steve, not just his name and his smile.

“No.” Stark sounded determined. “He’s not even awake right now. He got pretty banged up out there,” he nodded in the rough direction of the river. “I’m not going to tell him anything until he’s strong enough to handle it. You were a touchy subject when you were dead. Now that you’re alive…” He let the sentence hang.

“You think he shouldn’t know I’m alive?” Even though Bucky had thought that was best, Stark agreeing with him just made him mad. Nobody should keep secrets from Steve. Especially not his friends, thought it wasn’t a guarantee that Stark was his friend.

“Not right now, no. I think he needs to heal, and get his head on straight. Make no mistake, the minute he’s ready to find you, I’ll give him all the help he’ll take. In the meantime, you have to pull yourself together. He’s not gonna be able to lose you again.”

“He should. He should just walk away. It’s better. Safer.” The words burned Bucky, the memories were coming back slowly, but the one thing he did remember was always being at Steve’s side. But this was better by far. He couldn’t hurt Steve if he stayed away.

“Bullshit,” Stark leaned forward, catching Bucky’s eyes. “What makes you think he wants safe?” The words triggered something. Memory.

  _“Safe!” Steve shook his head. “And you think I wanted that? To sit there, ‘safe’, while you were over here, fighting, maybe dying? And what did you think would happen to me, if you never came home, huh? Did you ever think of that?”_

“He never did like safe.” Bucky shook his head. “But this is different. I could kill him. And he’d let me.”

_Hands around Steve’s neck. Punching. “You’re my mission.” “Then finish it. ‘Cause I’m with you ‘till the end of the line.”_

Stark smiled. “You won’t.”

“You sound awfully confidant of that.”

“I am. Because I won’t let you kill him.” The smile was still there, but his eyes were deadly.

“And how are you going to stop me?” Bucky wanted to know.

“I’m Iron Man,” Stark told him, as if that was enough. Bucky snorted, disbelieving. “And I can do this.” Stark pushed a button on his phone and his briefcase snapped open, pointing a large gun at Bucky. Bucky froze. The soldier in him woke up, pushing the man down underneath his training. “See? Handier than I thought it would be, even.” Stark pushed another button and the gun retracted itself.

“That was a very dangerous move,” the Winter Soldier said. Stark nodded.

“Well, we’re both dangerous men. Now, how about we skip the part where you threaten me, and go right to the bit where I help you.”

“Why?”

Stark shrugged. “Because threats are tedious. Believe me, you’re not near as much fun to threaten as Loki.”

“No. Why help me?” The soldier ignored the part about a ‘Loki’. Whatever that was, it didn’t matter to him, or his mission.

“Bucky-”

“ _I’m not Bucky_!” The man who wasn’t the Winter Soldier cut Stark off. He was the Soldier. That was all. No name, no past.

“Do you want to be?” Stark asked.

“What?”

“Do you want to be him? Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes. The man who means more to Steve Rogers than probably anyone else in this whole damn world. Because you _can_ say no. I can walk away, leave you right here, and you won’t have to worry about us Avengers ever again- provided you don’t start hurting people. You wouldn’t be able to see Steve, of course. Seeing a different man wearing his best friend’s face… I wouldn’t let you do that to him. But you’d live your own life.” Bucky resurfaced, pushing the soldier from his mind. He opened his mouth to protest- no one was going to keep him away from Steve! But Stark held up a hand to quiet him.

“Or, you can say yes. We can help you reclaim your identity. And once you’re ready, you’ll be able to be with Steve. So I’m going to ask again. Do you want to be James Buchanan Barnes?”

Bucky thought about it. He’d only just reclaimed the name, and he was already using it to refer to himself. He was almost certain he had once been James Barnes. The question was, did he want to be that person again, if it was even possible?

“If I’m not him, what will happen to Steve?” The question came out of his mouth before he’d even had a real chance to think it through. Stark sighed, and suddenly looked very tired.

“Honestly? I don’t know. He’s pretty messed up inside. Takes one to know one, you could say. Anyway, we’ll do our best, but there’s no guarantee he’ll get better. You trying to kill him was kinda the last straw.”

“And if I try to be Bucky and it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’ll be no worse off than we were.”

Bucky sighed. “I can’t promise anything. I’m kinda a mess up here,” he tapped his skull.

“Who isn’t?” Stark asked. “I’m not asking for promises. I’m asking what you want.”

“Then…” Bucky paused. Here came the decision. Try to be Bucky Barnes, or forget it all and start over? _Blue eyes glowing, a smile all for him. “Bucky!” A baseball game, legs pressed together, stealing a bite of Steve’s hotdog. “Bucky!” A weak smile from a hospital bed, a shaking hand extended, offering the pulse point. “Hey, Buck.” Wild blue eyes meeting his in the midst of battle. “Bucky!” A train, hanging over the edge of the cliff, a hand reaching out. “Bucky!”_

_Hope and disbelief in the eyes of his target, the word that gives him back his soul. “Bucky?”_

“I want to be Bucky Barnes.” He said it, and it was true.

“Good. Because I really didn’t want to have to try to persuade you,” Stark told him.

“Why? Why come here? Ask me this? What do you get out of helping me?” Bucky wanted to know. The man who had been the Winter Soldier didn’t understand.

“Why? Because you’re someone Steve cares about. And because I can. As for what I get, I get Captain America, happy. And if Cap’s happy, it means a whole lot less work for me in the saving-self-destructive-people department. Believe it or not, I actually like our little band of heroes.” Stark pulled a pamphlet out of his pocket. “Here. You might want to start here.” He slid it across the table to Bucky, who picked it up.

“The Air and Space Museum?”

 

Stark dropped him off at the Smithsonian the next morning with a brand new cellphone, programed with two numbers- Stark’s and Steve’s. He’d given Bucky some new clothes, too, nondescript civilian clothes that hid his metal arm. He’d had doctors at his apartment that treated Bucky’s already-healing wounds, and before he’d let Bucky out of his car he had handed him an envelope with a credit card and some cash in it.

“Use this,” he’d said. “Steve would kill me if I didn’t at least help you out this much. He’ll probably kill me anyway when he finds out I had you at my house and didn’t make you stay. But. You gotta do what you gotta do. Call me any time. Better, call Steve. He’s the one that wants you around.” With that, Stark had driven off, leaving Bucky staring up the steps of the building that _might_ hold the remains of his past.

 

Getting his arm past security was laughably easy. For a country as paranoid as the US, they sure made a lot of mistakes right out the door. After that, Bucky wandered down past the information desk and the IMAX Theater, right in to the Captain America exhibit. There was a big painting of the man with the shield on the wall as he went in, and Bucky stared at it for some time, willing himself to remember. Nothing. He went further in.

There was a photograph of Steve pre-serum, and one of post-serum. Bucky glanced at them and- memory.

_“What happened to you?” he asked, because he had to know. And god, he was looking up at Steve now. How many times had he helped support Steve, walking down the street, with Steve looking up at him? And now, impossibly, their positions were reversed._

_“I joined the army.”_

And again.

_“Bucky!” Steve turned when he saw him, giving him that blinding smile that was all Steve. At least that hadn’t changed. “I thought you were going to get some rest,” he chided, nodding a dismissal to the men he’d been talking with._

_“Yeah, well, I figured no one was gonna come make you sleep if I didn’t.”_

Bucky stared at the pictures some more, willing more memories to surface. He _had_ to remember. Nothing.

Further in, there was a case of photos from their childhood. One caught and held his attention- Steve, looking small and sickly, arm wrapped firmly around a boy’s shoulders. Two adults Bucky vaguely recognized stood behind them. The boy had his eyes.

_Steve Rogers was adopted by the Barnes family in 1925_ , the caption read. Memory.

_“Hey, Buck, how would you like to have a brother?”_

_“You’re going to adopt Steve?!” Bucky almost shouted, and watched his mom try to keep a straight face._

_“Only if you say it’s ok. We’ll take care of Steve until he gets better, regardless, but he’s here all the time anyway. Don’t you think it would be better if he didn’t have to go back to the orphanage?”_

And another.

_“They said you were too sick for me to come see you. I thought you were gonna die!”_

_“I’m not gonna die, Buck. I’ve been sicker’n this before,” Steve told him. The thought frightened Bucky._

_“Well, you can’t get sick like this again. We’re gonna take care a’ you now.”_

Another photograph showed Bucky and Steve in the hospital, a doctor standing over Steve. It triggered another flash of memory.

_“Bucky!” Steve’s eyes were wide and frightened, unable to stop as his hands and feet jerked in a grotesque parody of dance. Bucky grabbed for his hands again, only to miss as they twitched out of his reach. Steve’s face screwed up in a grimace._

_“You’ll be ok, Steve,” Bucky promised, jumping down from the bed. He ran for his mom._

Each picture after that opened a flood of memories. Bucky stood still and stared blankly at the photos, processing all the new/old information as it came to him. When the memories stopped, he moved on to the next. Repeated the process. There were hardly any pictures of Steve as a boy that didn’t include Bucky, and for some reason Bucky knew that that was because there were hardly any times when they were kids that they hadn’t been together. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have his whole memory back- he remembered enough to know that Steve had been his whole world.

Next was an exhibit of Steve’s art. Examples of childish drawings gave way to beautiful, lifelike artwork. Many of the pictures were of places, but more than half were people. Chief among those depicted in Steve’s drawings was Bucky. He rested a palm- the flesh one- on the glass above a portrait of him laughing, and- memory.

_“You’re gonna be famous one day,” Bucky told Steve on an afternoon in the park. “Yep,” he nodded and smiled at Steve’s disbelieving look. “You’re going to have art in every museum around the world. People will be lining up to look at your pictures. And I’ll be able to say ‘I knew him when he was just some punk from Brooklyn.’”_

_“Aw, come on, Bucky, that ain’t gonna happen,” Steve protested. Bucky punched him lightly on the shoulder, and Steve winced and made a face._

_“Of course it will. And I’ll be your agent, selling your art and scheduling appearances.”_

_“Really?” Steve flashed him that smile, the one Bucky never saw him give to anyone else._

_“’Course I will. I’m with you to the end of the line, ain’t nobody gonna separate us!”_

At the end of the exhibit was a sketchbook. Before even seeing it properly, Bucky had a distinct sense of _MINE_ about it. When he got closer, he saw it was open to the first page. The writing was very messy- the worst he’d seen outside of a doctor’s office- but he knew how to read it with ease. “To Bucky,” it said, “To remind you of what you’re fighting for. From Steve.”

There was a display underneath the book- someone had carefully scanned all the pages, and you could flip through them electronically. Bucky spent nearly an hour immersed in the pictures, remembering what each one had meant to him. Steve had given him this book when he left for basic training. He wanted nothing more than to break the glass and take it back. It was _his_ , after all. But if he took it, he would get thrown out before seeing the rest of the exhibit. And there were still so many memories left to unlock. With a sigh, he tore himself away- promising himself that he’d get that book back, one way or another.

The next memory came from a picture of his parents. The caption said that they had died in 1940. For a moment, he didn’t think he was going to get anything from that. And then, memory.

_“It’s Mom,” he said, turning to bury his head in Steve’s shirt. “She’s- she’s-” he couldn’t get it out._

_“Hey, hey, calm down. It’ll be alright. What’s wrong with her?” Bucky could feel Steve’s heart hammering in his chest, and the sound of it calmed him down a little. Enough to bite out one word._

_“Cancer.”_

He got other flashes too. A kind woman with red hair singing to him and Steve. A stern man with a hidden smile putting on a pair of boxing gloves. The woman, laughing, holding him close. The man ruffling his hair. Both standing together in church, holding hands beneath their bible.

_“It wasn’t my fault, mom!” Bucky protested. “Those bullies on Tenth were beating up Steve!”_

_“Were they?” his mom said, grabbing a rag and putting some sort of stuff on it from a bottle. She looked them both over, then knelt down by Steve and started dabbing at his cuts._

_“Yes ma’am,” Steve agreed, wincing as whatever was on the cloth stung. “They’ve been taking our money for weeks now. I couldn’t let ‘em get away with it!”_

_“Hmm,” Bucky’s mom shot her son a look._

_“It’s true, Mom! They’ve been stealing the pocket change of all the kids from the Eighth Avenue orphanage whenever they try to cross Tenth.”_

Further on, he found a display on… himself. He stared at the black-and-white photo on the clear glass, and tried to recognize the man he saw. It was like looking at a ghost. The text said he had died, falling from a train in the line of duty. There was even a map showing where. He put a finger on the glass, tracing the tracks and- memory.

_Steve reached for him. Bucky tried to extend his hand. And fell._

_As he fell, the only thing he could think, beyond the crushing fear, was that he was leaving Steve alone. The look on Steve’s face as the metal gave way haunted him. He tried to catch hold of the cliff side, something, anything to keep him from leaving Steve. He caught a branch, his arm sticking in the fork, but the force of his fall wrenched him away. Bucky felt his arm snap, blinding pain shooting through him. The ground rushed up to meet him. His last thought was “Please God, take care of Steve.”_

When the memory released him, he felt a phantom pain in his metal arm- the arm that had snapped when he fell. He rubbed the elbow, and felt a new/old emotion- worry. Steve had seen him die. Then, he had seen him brainwashed. What was he thinking now? What was he feeling? How was he? Bucky knew, even without his whole memory, that Steve would be suffering more from the pain in his heart than any wound. He felt more guilt- that was his fault.

He distracted himself from the two reclaimed emotions by looking at the old uniforms on display. He thought maybe he could place them, recognize which uniform belonged to who. The only one missing was Steve’s. Memory.

_“Can I…?” Bucky reached out, hesitant to touch but wanting very much to know if Steve’s new body felt as real as it looked._

_“Sure, I guess,” Steve shrugged, sitting down on the bed next to Bucky._

_“I still don’t really believe it, y’know? I mean, I see you, but in my head you’re still that scrawny kid.” Bucky placed a hand gently on Steve’s chest, relieved to find it firm and solid under his fingers. “God, you’re warm. Steve, you’re running a fever!”_

_“No, I’m not,” Steve shook his head. “That’s my normal temperature now. Something to do with the new metabolism and everything, I think.”_

_“Fuck,” Bucky breathed. He moved his hand lower, touching Steve’s prefect washboard abs before poking him in the side. “Still ticklish?” he asked._

He and Steve… had they been…? No. He remembered that. But there was a … wanting there, something he’d never talked about. Another emotion flared in his chest, and he felt his body respond to the pure _want_. The old him, the 1940’s Bucky, would have shoved the emotion away. The man who was no longer the Winter Soldier pulled it close, tasting it. It was his feeling, and nobody could take that away.

Further on, there were videos. He watched the man he had been smiling and laughing, an arm wrapped firmly around Steve. More memories flooded in, filling up the blank spaces in his mind. It felt like he’d opened a box, a box that had compressed all of him into a tiny, hidden space. And now he was expanding, filling the blankness of his mind with light and sound. His childhood came back, bit by bit. Memories of little import, a comfortable life for a young boy. And then- memory.

_“Hah, bullies always run true to form- and I do mean run,” Bucky turned to the blond kid, who looked like a complete mess, blood oozing out his nose, black eye already starting to swell shut, breathing in labored gasps._

_“I woulda worn them down eventually,” the kid said, as if he didn’t look ready to keel over at any second._

_“Yeah,” Bucky scoffed, “when they died of old age.”_

_The kid seemed to take offense at that, forcing himself up straighter and showing Bucky his fists. “Maybe you wanna go a round or two?” The kid had guts, that was certain._

_“Whoa there, cowboy! Holster those guns! I come in peace!” He took a step back, clearly signaling his intention not to fight. “Never even occurred to me to stand up to those bums until I saw a shrimp like you do it. You’re a real inspiration, you know that?”_

_The kid shrugged, and held out a hand to shake. “Thanks, I guess. Steve Rogers. Been in the orphanage on Eighth Avenue since my mom passed.”_

_Bucky shook his hand. “Good to know you kid. James Buchanan Barnes. My friends call me Bucky.”_

The day he met Steve. One of his most important memories. He spent a long time examining it, letting it fill him. Steve was his corner stone, the point on which all his memories hung. If he could remember all the time spent with Steve, maybe he’d be alright. He moved on from the videos, already feeling more like the man they showed. He didn’t think he’d ever be the same again, but maybe close was good enough. It would be good enough for Bucky, only if it were good enough for Steve.

The final part of the exhibit was an IMAX movie about Steve, filmed after his re-awakening. Bucky purchased a ticket with Stark’s credit card and settled into one of the seats and watched it play out. When it finished, he watched it again. And again. Until the last show of the day, when the museum was getting ready to close. The part that got him the most was when Steve was asked about him.

“So we’ve heard about the Howling Commandos, but I feel like we’ve heard comparatively little about one particular member. The one everyone said was your best friend.” The interviewer was off the camera, letting Steve’s face fill the screen.

“Bucky.” Steve’s eyes were sad.

“Sargent James Barnes, formerly of the 107th infantry. Renowned as a sniper, he was captured by Hydra in 1943. He was rescued by Captain America, and joined the newly formed Howling Commandos. Am I correct in saying that you knew him most of your life?”

Steve nodded. “We met when we were kids. I was… seven, I think. Some older kids were taking money from all of us from the orphanage. Bucky saw me fighting them and stepped in to help. Then he took me home and his mom cleaned us up.”

“And you became friends?”

“Yes. I’d come over to his place, or he’d come see me in the orphanage. We didn’t get to see each other much during school, because he was the grade ahead of me, but we were always together outside of that.” Steve stopped, swallowed, closed his eyes. There was an awkward pause, before the interviewer continued.

“After about a year, James’ family adopted you, is that right?”

“Yes. I got scarlet fever, and the orphanage couldn’t take care of me- they didn’t have the money for the medicine I needed because of my immune system. I didn’t know it at the time, but Bucky snuck in, trying to see me, and overheard one of the sisters talking to the doctor. He ran home, told his parents, and they decided to adopt me.”

“Were you surprised?” the interviewer asked, and Bucky snorted, causing a woman in the row in front to turn and glare at him. Surprised hadn’t begun to cover it. From what he could remember, Steve couldn’t believe anyone wanted to adopt him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I was. But I was so sick, I thought I was hallucinating. Bucky thought I was gonna die. They wouldn’t let him come visit me, even after they’d moved me to our house, so he didn’t know how I was.”

“You caught rheumatic fever after that, correct?”

Bucky remembered that. _Steve, shaking in bed. The doctor gently placing his fingers on Steve’s wrist. Warm fingers in his hair, Steve’s voice singing as he woke._

“I did. Bucky was with me when it started. I probably only made it through it because he was there with me the whole time. He didn’t give up on me, so I couldn’t give up on myself.”

Bucky closed his eyes. No, he’d never given up on Steve. What he’d done was worse- he’d forgotten him.

The interview continued. “You were very close as children. Were you as close as adults?”

“Absolutely.” Steve’s voice was firm and he looked annoyed at the interviewer for even suggesting a possibility they hadn’t been.

“And when Sargent Barnes left for war, you were left behind. Was that why you tried so hard to get into the army?” the interviewer asked, and Bucky wanted to laugh. Steve had been determined to get into the army before he’d even signed up. Hell, Steve had been the one to suggest it to him! That is, if his memory was correct. And Steve’s response confirmed it.

“No. I mean, sure, I wanted to serve with him. But I knew I was going to sign up the minute we heard about the war.”

“Where were you when you learned the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor?”

“Art class,” Bucky whispered.

“In art class,” Steve responded. “We used to take them for fun, Bucky and me.”

Bucky remembered. _Steve’s pencil gliding over the paper, leaving behind a prefect drawing. Afternoons in the sun, letting Steve draw him. Stacks of sketchbooks all over their apartment._

“Did James know about Project Rebirth before you rescued him from the Hydra base?” No, he hadn’t. He had been shocked. He could remember that.

“No. Before, I didn’t want to tell him because I didn’t want to tell him and then fail. After, I didn’t know where he was to get a letter to him.”

“How did he react?”

_Not well_ , Bucky thought. He remembered arguing with Steve about it. Not understanding _why_ he had to do it. He also remembered a certain fascination with Steve’s new body.

Steve gave a little cough of a laugh. “Well, he was a little shocked at first. He remembered me as this skinny little kid he used to sit with in the hospital. And suddenly I was taller than him, bigger, stronger, faster. But he got used to the idea pretty quick.”

“And he was at your side for the next two years. Is it fair to say he was an integral part of the Howling Commandos?”

“More than fair. If not for Bucky, I wouldn’t be here today. I can’t count how many times he saved my life.” Steve looked down. Bucky knew he was fighting tears. He was fighting tears of his own, reclaiming another emotion- grief.

“He gave his life fighting for you,” the interviewer observed. Boiling rage flared up in Bucky. How dare she say that to Steve?! She had to know how much it would hurt him!

“He did.” Steve’s voice choked up, but he covered it with a cough. “We had a mission. Capture one of Hydra’s lead scientists. He was on a train, which we ambushed. But he had advanced weaponry, which blew a hole in the side of one of the cars. It knocked us off our feet, and Bucky grabbed my shield. The next blast hit him directly, blowing him out of the car. I took out the enemy, but before I could pull him back in, the metal Bucky was hanging on to let go.”

“It was reported that you spent three days looking for him, but you never found his body.”

Bucky had trouble controlling his anger after that comment. It was very good they never showed the face of the interviewer, or he might have gone looking for her. While he was glad to know Steve had looked for him, no one had the right to make him re-live that simply for people’s curiosity.

“That’s right.” Steve nodded, but did not elaborate.

“What happened when you were forced to give up the search?”

Steve audibly inhaled. “I left my best friend at the bottom of a river. And I went on to take down the organization responsible for his death.” The look he gave the camera then meant the topic was closed, and the interviewer went on to ask about other things. But Bucky fixed the look on Steve’s face as he said the words ‘best friend’ in his mind.

He was still missing a puzzle piece. Something about a loss of his own. What was it?

The film had a dramatized version of Steve’s final moments. It had been mentioned on the brochure- _See Captain America’s plunge into the ice_. Over the video, they played a recording taken from SSR files- the actual conversation between Steve and Peggy. The second it started, Bucky was back in _that_ chair, facing the torture of the Red Room. And… memory. _Four days of hearing Steve die. Four days of trying to deny it. But he couldn’t. Steve was gone. Without Bucky to watch his back, he’d backed himself into a corner and ended up buried in ice. The fifth day brought silence. But it was too late. Bucky was already dead inside._

The memory released him, leaving him staring at the end credits of the movie. The second time through, though hearing Steve ‘die’ still shook him, he didn’t fall back into the horror of the memory. He was able to pay attention when they talked of a long search, the final discovery of the Hydra plane, and finding Steve’s body. They interviewed the men that found him, and the doctors that defrosted him. The science of it was probably fascinating, but Bucky didn’t really care about that. No, he was just glad that they’d done what they did. They’d brought Steve back. That meant that, in a way, they had brought Bucky back too.

 

Bucky left the museum at the end of the day with most of a memory. There were still holes, missing puzzle pieces, but it was more than what he had woken up with. He got a hotel room, and spent two days holed up in it- processing the things he had remembered. It felt like stretching muscles that had fallen asleep- rusty from disuse, a little painful, but ultimately a good feeling.

He spent most of a third day thinking about what he would do next. He could go back to Steve, but he wasn’t sure he was safe yet. The Soldier was still in him, waiting for the right provocation to take over and push Bucky down again. He didn’t think he’d ever be free of him, not really. But there was one way to be sure he didn’t every get any more orders. It was time to take down the Red Room and Hydra, once and for all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place at around the same time as the previous one. This time, we get to see what Steve and Sam have been up to.

Sam’s been putting the pieces of shattered soldiers back together since before he can remember. The first was his father, a veteran of the first Gulf War- Operation Desert Storm, who came home to his young family missing an arm and a large part of his heart. He’s good at fixing people- not physically, he’s no doctor- but on the inside, the hurts that don’t get mentioned on the casualty lists. He can tell you, from experience, that a broken heart, a damaged soul, those are harder to put back together than any body part. And he knows broken when he sees it.

So when he met Steve Rogers, he knew what he was looking at. Steve wasn’t so much damaged as completely destroyed. Completely destroyed, that is, and put together by inexpert hands that didn’t really have time to fit all the pieces in correctly. He was a man out of time. A man that had been through hell, lost everything, and at the end of it, was expected to keep on giving until he had nothing left.

Sam had invited Steve to the VA, thought maybe it would help him, to talk to some other returned soldiers. And, to Sam’s surprise, he came. He was confused, looking for answers, and suddenly Sam was the one in a position to help. He asked Steve what made him happy, and the answer had been “I don’t know.” Now, after everything, Sam was willing to bet that, once upon a time, that answer would have been “Bucky.” But when Sam had asked that question, Bucky had been dead, and Steve had been trying to find his feet in a new century. Now, Bucky was alive. And Steve… well. Steve’s world had been shattered, perhaps beyond repair.

Sitting next to Steve in the hospital, Sam did a lot of thinking. Chief in his mind was the expression on Steve’s face when the Winter Soldier’s mask had come off. It was an expression Sam never wanted to see again- disbelief, fading into despair. He’d been immobilized by the shock, blindly following the STRIKE team’s demands. Worse, Sam hadn’t seen any fear in him when the gun was held to his head. A man who didn’t fear death at least a little was a man who didn’t have any reason left to live.

So Sam did some research. He’d known the basics of Steve’s story- it had been all over the media after his return (along with reruns of his old films) but he’d never known the details, specifically the extent of his friendship with Bucky Barnes. What he found confirmed his fears- Steve and Bucky had been beyond close, and when he died, a part of Steve had died too. From all reports, their relationship had been pretty co-dependent from the time they were children. “Brothers,” everyone said. Sam wasn’t so sure. He’d seen the expression on Steve’s face, after all.

The thing was, Steve had been raised in a time when any sort of romantic relationship between men had been illegal. It was entirely possible that, even if Sam was right, and there was a more-than-platonic kind of love between them, neither man had realized it. That could well be part of what was causing Steve so much pain. Denying part of yourself, even if it was an unconscious decision, was ultimately destructive on a very basic level. Sam should know. He was raised in a military family. Being gay was just something that wasn’t done. And then he’d met Riley, and all those doors he’d thought so firmly closed had been blown open. They’d been together, almost from the beginning of that first tour. And then Riley had died, blown from the sky right before his eyes. And suddenly, Sam knew what he had to do for Steve.

If there had even been a chance Riley was still alive, Sam would have stopped at nothing to find him. If he’d found him brainwashed, he’d have done exactly what Steve had done. That battle up in the helicarrier must have been hell for Steve, and the wounds he had showed it. He hadn’t fought back with everything he had, and had nearly died for it. But someone had dragged him out of the river and left him on the shore of the Potomac. Sam thought maybe he knew who.

Now the problem was finding him. If it’d been him, and he’d woken up after being brainwashed into trying to kill Riley, Sam knew what he would have done. He would have run as far and as fast as he could have. And when he stopped running, he would have gone after the people who had hurt Riley, until there was nothing left but little smoking bits. There was a crater out there in the desert that could attest to that.

“On your left.” Sam looked up from his book to see Steve’s eyes open.

“So you’re back in the land of the living,” he said, turning to look more closely at his friend. He was already looking a lot better than he had when they’d brought him in. There was definitely something to be said for super healing abilities.

“Looks like it. How’d I get here? Last thing I remember, I was falling out of that carrier.” Steve prodded at the stitches on his face, fingers ghosting over the bruises that were already fading away.

“Some agents found you on the edge of the Potomac. Looks like you fell in the river, but somebody dragged you out.”

“Bucky.” It wasn’t a question.

“Maybe.” Sam wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to give Steve hope that his friend was still alive inside the Winter Soldier. Not until they knew for certain.

“It was him.” Steve sounded certain.

“Steve,” Sam really didn’t know what to say. “Even if it was him, there’s no guarantee that-”

“He remembers. I could see it, right before I fell. He said I was his mission, and I told him to finish it, ‘cause I was with him to the end of the line. It’s something we used to say as kids. And he stopped. He couldn’t kill me. I think… I think he got his memory back. I don’t know if it was what I said, or seeing me again, or the fight, or what. But he remembers.”

After that, nothing Sam or anyone else could say would convince Steve that Bucky might still be lost. “He’s in there,” Steve insisted. “I know it.” Sam hoped for his sake that was true.’

 

“I’ve called Stark,” Natasha said to Sam the day before Steve was set to get out of the hospital- even for a super-soldier, a belly shot is no joke. “I’ve got him running facial recognition with old pictures of Sargent Barnes on just about everything he can get his hands on. If he so much as sneezes on camera, Stark will know.”

“You think it’s a good idea for Steve to go looking for him?” Sam asked her, surprised.

She shook her head. “No. It’s a terrible idea. But I think it’s something he has to do.”

“Yeah.” Sam sighed. “What about Stark?”

“He was in DC the day after everything went down, looking for the Winter Soldier. I don’t know if he found anything, but if he did, he’s not talking.”

Sam didn’t know Tony Stark that well, so he figured he’d just let Natasha and Steve handle dealing with him. Instead he asked “Are you coming with us?”

“Us?” Natasha’s eyebrows shot up, and Sam grinned. He’d already learned that she wasn’t surprised often.

“Yeah. I figure, somebody’s got to look out for him. Might as well be me.”

“Hmm.” She locked gazes with him for a moment, then nodded. “No, I’m not. I’ve got some stuff I have to do. If you run into any trouble, though…”

“I’ve got your number.” She’d given it to Sam when he’d volunteered to sit with Steve in the hospital. He thought maybe Natasha really did care about Steve, she just had trouble showing it. She was another broken soldier, but he thought maybe she was beyond his ability. Someone else was putting her back together, though. Maybe the someone who gave her the arrow necklace. Sam wanted to meet him. He thought maybe he would need help healing Steve, especially if Bucky was as damaged as he feared.

 

“You don’t have to come with me, you know,” Steve told him, for the dozenth time. Sam laughed and zipped up his duffle.

“Sure, but somebody has to keep you from getting yourself killed. Might as well be me.”

“Hmm. Well, thanks.” Steve was smiling at him, and Sam really liked that smile. It was so open and honest, classic Steve. Not that he had any thoughts in that direction, romantically at least. Steve was great, but not his type. There was just an underlying sweetness to him that made Sam want to protect him, to keep seeing him smile.

“So what are we doing for transport? My car was kind of trashed on the beltway, so…”

“Tony sent over a car. Seems a little birdie told him we were planning an expedition and needed a vehicle.”

“Say spider, and I think you’ll hit the mark,” Sam said, and then whistled. They’d exited his house to see the ‘car’. It was a beauty- a cherry red convertible, complete with black leather seats. “And Tony Stark just _gave_ you this? He does know your track record with cars, right?”

“Haha, very funny. Need I remind you that I wasn’t the one driving? Anyway, he’s letting us _borrow_ this, and he says if I get it dented I’ll owe him for the rest of my life. And for the record, I’ve never had an accident when I wasn’t being attacked.” Steve mock-glared at him, but tossed Sam the keys anyway.

“He wouldn’t happen to have included a new set of wings in there, did he?” Sam asked, not hopefully. Steve opened the trunk. Front and center was his suit, better than ever. Next to it was Steve’s, complete with the shield.

“He said they’d probably come in handy. It looks like Hydra bases are being wiped off the map faster than SHIELD teams can get there to take them out. He thinks Bucky may have something to do with it.”

Sam nodded. “Makes sense. If it were me, I’d probably be going after them too.”

“So our first stop…” Steve pulled out a map and laid it out on the back of the car. “Looks like the most likely place is in Nevada.”

“OK. Let’s go.” Sam hopped in the driver’s seat. Nevada was probably only the first stop, and they had a long drive ahead of them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They lose Bucky's trail, and Steve goes a little bit stir-crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's pretty short. The next one should be up in a few days, and we'll get to see what Bucky is up to!

Steve stared at the ceiling in their (ridiculously expensive, thank you Tony) hotel room. He was afraid to go back to sleep, afraid of the nightmares. They’d been fairly steady since he’d woken up from the ice, once or twice a week he would be back on the train, watching Bucky fall. After finding Bucky alive they increased, until he watched Bucky die every time he closed his eyes. It wasn’t always the same dream anymore, either. Sometimes they were on the helicarrier, and he was the one that fell, and the carrier with Bucky on it exploded in the sky above him. Sometimes, they were places he’d never even been. He’d seen Bucky fall off a mountain, jump in front of him to stop a bullet, fall (or jump) into the endless pit of hell. The result was always the same, Bucky died. But the dream didn’t end there anymore.

Now, as Steve searched for Bucky in the dreams he would come back and try to kill him. Sometimes he was the Winter Soldier. Sometimes he was lifeless, a corpse animated to bring Steve with him to death. Other times, he was just Bucky, coldly furious that Steve had let him die. In all of them, he overpowered Steve. Steve always woke up just before he died, sweating, with tears on his face.

Sam never noticed. Or if he did, he was kind enough to pretend he didn’t. Some things were best kept private, and this was one of them. Steve thought Sam would have understood, but he kept the dreams to himself anyway, and tried not to sleep.

He’d finally been tired enough that night, had actually thought maybe he wouldn’t dream. But no, the nightmare had come. Steve looked at the clock on the bedside table. 04:06. He’d gotten maybe two hours of sleep, putting the grand total up to six for the week. He hoped it wouldn’t catch up with him before they found Bucky.

They’d been searching for a month now, always two steps behind. Wherever they went, they found a burned-out Hydra base. No survivors. Most had been killed by a single gunshot to the head, Bucky’s preferred method. Quick and clean, with none of the Winter Soldier’s bang-and-flash and heavy weaponry. Steve was reassured by that. Bucky was reclaiming himself.

 They found documents, too. Details of Hydra operations. Files from something called the Red Room that made Steve sick to look at. Evidence of what had been done to Bucky. The last, Steve kept. He was making a folder of information, keeping anything and everything that might be able to clear Bucky’s name once they caught up to him. They would catch up to him, of that Steve had no doubt. Bucky was leaving a clear trail, as if he knew they were following.

 

Six weeks later, that trail had gone cold. It was as if Bucky had simply dropped off the map somewhere between Portland and L.A., leaving Steve and Sam with no clue where to go next. So they got a hotel room, and started making calls. Tony couldn’t find anything, on _any_ imaging device. Natasha’s contacts turned up absolutely nothing. The entire SHIELD network (what was left of it) got zilch. Radio silence.

Two days in, and Steve was going stir crazy. Sam was trying his best to keep him distracted, but even his best was woefully inadequate in the face of Steve’s worry. Steve tried to settle. He really did. But every time he was idle, he jumped up again. Pacing, just to be moving. For the first time in years, his fingers itched for a pencil. He didn’t go out and buy one, preferring to use his pent-up energy on the gym equipment in the hotel. After the first day, Tony called and said the hotel had called _him_.

“You can’t use the gym anymore,” Tony told Steve. “They said you killed the machines. I think the manager was actually crying.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, feeling guilty. “I just…”

“I know,” Tony’s voice was kind. “But I can’t go buying every hotel you stay in a new gym. I mean, I _can_ , but Pepper would probably complain. So.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah. I understand. I’ll go running or something. Maybe that will help.”

“We’ll find him,” Tony said, actually sounding confidant. “He’s probably just holed up somewhere planning his next move. We’ll get a ping in a day or two from somebody’s camera, and you’ll be out beating up bad guys again. Don’t worry so much.”

“But Tony, he’s…”

“I know. It’ll be ok, Cap.” There was seriously something wrong when _Tony Stark_ was the one with the comforting words, but Steve was grateful.

“Thanks, Tony. You’re a good friend.”

“No I’m not,” he denied it, but sounded pleased. They hung up soon after that, and for an hour or so, Steve was calmer. Then he was climbing the walls again, flipping from news channel to news channel, hoping to find _something._

Sam came back to find him doing push-ups in the middle of the hotel room floor and sighed exasperatedly from the door.

“Steve,” he said, his tone saying everything his words didn’t.

“I know,” Steve told him, sitting up. “Sorry.”

Sam shook his head, entering the room and plopping down on the bed. Steve noticed the case he had with him, one he hadn’t had when he left. It looked like a guitar case.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing.

“Hmm?” Sam glanced at the case, then back at Steve, cracking a smile. “I heard you used to sing. I play a little, so I figured why not. It could give us something to do while we wait.”

“Sam… I haven’t sung in years.” All Steve’s creativity had seemed to leave him with Bucky’s death. Singing and drawing just hadn’t held the same appeal, when he knew Bucky was never going to be there to appreciate his work. When he was never going to be able to sing him awake on a lazy Sunday morning, or draw him from life.

“Let me guess, you stopped when Bucky died?”

“Yeah, I guess I did. How did you know?” Steve was curious. He wouldn’t have made that connection, if it had been anyone else in his position.

“Because I stopped playing when Riley died. It was… something we’d done together, to entertain the guys on base. I gave my guitar to one of them when I got out. Didn’t think I’d ever play again.” Sam shrugged, and Steve remembered his lost wingman. “But, the thing is, he wouldn’t want me to stop doing something I enjoy just because he couldn’t do it with me anymore. He died, but that doesn’t mean I did.”

“I only ever really sang for Bucky,” Steve protested. He’d done some with the other guys, but he’d only joined the quartet because Bucky had insisted. It hadn’t been the same after his death, and the quartet had been a man short. Steve had left before they’d found anyone else.

“Then I think it’s time we both started again. Don’t want to be rusty when he comes back, do you?” Sam prodded, lifting the lid on the case and taking out the guitar. It was a beautiful instrument, and he ran his fingers through a chord, pulling a bright, smooth sound from the strings.

“I probably don’t know anything you do,” Steve protested. But he _wanted_ to sing. It had been so long.

“Sure you do. How about ‘Trouble Man?’” Sam played the opening notes of the song, missing a few fingerings, but managing to make it sound passable. Steve wasn’t so sure his voice would sound as good after three years of disuse.

“I…”

“Nope. Come on, Steve. Don’t make me sing it! I’ve been reliably informed that I sound like a dying cat when I sing.”

Steve gave in. After a shaky start, they both seemed to regain the hang of it. After Trouble Man, they did a few more songs from CDs they’d listened to on their trip across country. Then Sam had pulled out a few ‘old classics’ he could teach Steve (and he _didn’t_ sound like a dying cat when he sang.) That killed a few more hours, until Steve’s voice started to sound scratchy and he needed to stop. That night he actually slept, without the nightmares.

 

The next day brought no news, nor the next. Sam started teaching Steve to play guitar. They went running. Steve went running alone. They made more phone calls. Steve went running. They watched TV. Steve went running. They went shopping for a guitar for Steve. Steve went running. Sam cooked. Steve went running. Sam slept. Steve went running.

Steve ran, because when he was running he could forget everything for just a minute, lose himself in the rhythm of his body and the sound of his feet hitting the pavement. In that moment, he didn’t have to think about how he had failed Bucky, or what was happening to SHIELD, or that horrible look on Bucky’s face as he fell from the helicarrier. He pushed his body to the very limit, going days without sleep, hardly eating, and spending most of the day running. Sam worried about him, he knew, but it was the only thing that calmed him down anymore.

Then, two weeks after they lost the trail, Steve received a call from a number he didn’t recognize. He stopped running, panting a little as he answered his phone, aware of sweat covering his body. Then he heard the voice on the other end, and nothing else mattered.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” Bucky said, by way of greeting.

“Bucky! Where are you?” Steve looked around, hoping for a sight of sunlight glinting off the metal arm, or those familiar dark eyes staring at him from across the road. Nothing but beach-goers and tourists.

“That doesn’t matter,” Bucky said, sounding annoyed. “What matters is you workin’ yourself so hard you’re body’s gonna give out.”

Steve had to laugh, it sounded exactly like something Bucky had said back in 1943, when he’d been training to try and enlist. “I’m not gonna die from running, Buck,” he said.

“Mmm. And how long have you been running for today?” he asked.

Steve paused to think about it. “Um… three hours, give or take,” he answered at last.

“And how many hours yesterday?”

“Five. No, wait, six and a half.” It had been a bad day, and Sam had been gone for a lot of it. Steve had fallen asleep watching TV, and woken up from the nightmare where Bucky entered the hotel room and tried to shoot him.

“And it was five the day before that, and four the day before that. You _know_ that ain’t healthy.”

“Bucky, its fine. The serum-”

“Bullshit,” Bucky cut him off. “You’re still human. You’ve still got limits. And nobody, not even you, can keep going the way you’ve been and expect to be alright. You gotta stop this.”

“Okay,” Steve agreed, spotting a bench a few paces away and sinking down onto it.

“Okay?” Bucky sounded suspicious, the way he always was when Steve agreed too easily.

“Okay. I’ll stop. _If_ you tell me where you are.”

“I’m…” Bucky paused, and Steve’s heart jumped into his throat. Was this the part where Bucky hung up, leaving him clueless and searching again?

“Please?” Steve asked, hating how small his voice sounded.

“I’m in your hotel room,” Bucky admitted. Steve jumped up, turning in the direction of his hotel. His friend seemed to sense his intention, because he continued on to say “But I won’t be here when you get back.”

“Bucky-” Steve tried, running for the hotel anyway. “Can I at least see you? I need to know that you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky told him. “I heal fast now. You didn’t do any lasting damage.”

“Good. That’s… good. I’m okay too. I want to see you.”

“No,” Bucky said, adamant. “I’m not… just, not yet, ok? You should stop chasing me.”

“No can-do, Buck,” Steve told him. “I’m going to follow you until the end of the line.”

“You’ll get hurt,” Bucky said.

“So could you. If I don’t follow, who’ll help you out when that happens?”

“You won’t catch me.”

“So I’ll follow you until you come back to me. Or until I die of old age. I’m not giving up, Buck.

“I’m not really Bucky anymore. They- Hydra and the Red Room, they took that away.” Bucky’s voice broke, and Steve’s heart bled a little at the sound.

“You’re still you. Whoever that is, is good enough for me,” Steve told him. His Bucky was still there, he knew it. This phone call proved it beyond all doubt.

“I’m not going to stop hunting Hydra,” he warned. Steve laughed.

“Good, me neither. Once I find you, I’m going to exterminate every trace of Hydra. I could use your help.”

“We’d be more effective working apart. Take out more bases that way.”

Steve was maybe two blocks from the hotel. He hoped he could keep Bucky talking until he got up to the room.

“Not an option. I’m finding you first, no matter what.”

“Even if more people are getting hurt?” Bucky asked, probably hoping to throw Steve off. Luckily, Sam had already asked him that question, and his answer was the same now as it was then.

“That’s not the case. Right now they’re so far underground they won’t surface for years, and even if they did, Fury’s on it. I’m not giving up, Buck. For anything.”

“You should,” his friend insisted. “You should give up on me, go back to your life.”

“Nope. Not happening.” Steve reached the hotel lobby and raced past the elevator to the stairs.

“You should,” Bucky insisted. “I’m going to go now. Don’t follow me.”

“Bucky, wait!” Steve yelled into the phone, startling a maintenance worker cleaning the stairwell, but it was too late. Bucky was gone. Steve hit the re-dial button, and kept on hitting it as he ran up the stairs to the fifteenth floor. He thought he heard a phone ringing as he skidded to a stop in front of their room, but opened the door to find it empty. There was nothing there to show anyone else had ever been there, but for a new sketchpad and case of pencils resting on the foot of Steve’s bed. He picked them up, and sunk to the bed clutching them to his chest. Sam found him like that when he returned, twenty minutes later.

 

 After the phone call, Steve was doubly determined not to give up. He pushed himself to the limit, trying to find Bucky. Tony was able to trace the call, but by then the phone had been turned off, taking the GPS signal with it. Tony set a monitor up on it, in case Bucky turned it back on, but nobody was hopeful that that would happen.

Fortunately, the next day Tony’s facial recognition search got a hit from a traffic camera in Hollywood. They tracked Bucky down to a base that was on fire by the time they got there, and were off on another whirlwind adventure through the United States. This time, it seemed that Bucky was careful to leave hints as to where he was going next, as if he was still worried Steve would push himself into an early grave from frustration if left alone again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we get to see what Bucky has been up to. Sorry for re-hashing the phone call, but I think it's nice to see Bucky's side of things while Steve is going a little nuts over doing nothing. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think!
> 
> The song Steve sings at the end is Home, by Phillip Phillips.

Bucky didn’t realize it was Steve following him, at first. Oh, he’d figured on some kind of pursuit, both from Hydra and SHIELD. He’d even been leaving a sort of trail, welcoming the chance to pick off more Hydra operatives if they came after him. But he hadn’t counted on anyone sending Steve. The guy had just gotten out of the hospital after all, and needed time to recover. So when he was watching a news report about his latest target, and saw Steve coming out of the ruined building, it was a bit of a shock. The camera zoomed in on him right away, and Steve… Steve looked wrecked.

It wasn’t the kind of wrecked most people would notice, no, Steve was good at putting on a show and making people think he was fine. But Bucky remembered him now, and he knew the set of his shoulders and the bags around his eyes. This was a Steve who was on the edge of collapsing from exhaustion. His jaw had that stubborn set to it, and he held his head the way he always did when he was fighting off sleep. Bucky had seen that exact posture too many times to count, back in the 30’s, and even more often during the war, when Steve would push himself to limits no normal human could have survived.

The newscasters asked him something about his purpose there, but before Steve could answer the man with him deflected the question. Bucky barely remembered this man, he’d only seen him for a few minutes, but he thought perhaps he was the one with the wings. The man rested a hand on Steve’s shoulder, and Bucky bristled. That was _his_ place. But he watched as the man, someone called him Wilson, kept the reporters off Steve and got them back to the car- a cherry red convertible that couldn’t possibly have been Steve’s- and away from the cameras. Wilson was trying to do Bucky’s job, and not well, from the look of Steve. But maybe he was new to taking care of Steve, and just needed time to learn all the little tells Bucky knew so well.

More than anything, Bucky wanted to go to Steve. But that wasn’t an option yet. He had to know he was free of the Winter Soldier, free of any impulse to hurt Steve, before he could see him again. He was getting better. Some days were worse than others, but for the most part he remained Bucky. Twice, he’d woken up someplace different from where he had gone to sleep, with no recollection of how he had gotten there. A few other times, during battle, he’d felt the Soldier wake up inside him, the deadly hate trying push down everything he was, put him back in the box he’d been in for almost seventy years. The more he remembered, the less it happened. So when he wasn’t fighting, he focused on remembering. He thought his memory was almost intact now, though he wasn’t sure. There were still a few holes, a few things he knew he was missing, but for the most part it seemed to be all there.

He wanted to talk to Steve, to see if he could help fill in the missing pieces, but it was too risky. He had been the Soldier’s last target, and so long as the Soldier still existed, Steve would be in danger. That danger doubled if Steve caught up to him while he was fighting, when the heat of battle brought the Soldier closer to the surface. So Bucky did his best to disappear, hoping that with time Steve would give up and go back to his life. What he didn’t count on was just how dedicated Steve was to finding him.

Bucky watched him and his companion from a distance, once they had well and truly lost the trail. At first, things seemed fine. Steve went running a lot, but he and the other man also made a lot of phone calls. Then Steve went to the gym, and practically destroyed it. Bucky snuck into the security office and looked at the footage- Steve had taken on the punching bags like they’d personally offended him, and the machines just weren’t made to stand up to the worst Steve could throw at them. The bike he’d used was little more than a useless hunk of metal, and the weight machine would never be the same. It was pretty funny, actually, if he didn’t think about how Steve was so upset he hadn’t even realized what he’d done.

He watched Steve for a few more days after that, hoping he would calm down. But he didn’t. After Stark called him (and Bucky hadn’t liked the way Steve’s expression had softened while talking to the man) he’d been ok for an hour or two, but pretty soon he’d been off running again.

That night, Wilson brought a guitar back to the room. Bucky was perched on the roof of the hotel next door, watching them through the scope of his pistol, so he couldn’t see much, but he saw the way Steve hesitated when Wilson opened the case. That was wrong- Steve had loved to sing, and his friend was clearly inviting him to. Bucky jumped from the roof, his superior strength and speed propelling him to land on the balcony of the room next to Steve’s. He waited a few seconds, to see if anyone had noticed the noise, before slipping over to Steve’s balcony and pressing his ear to the door in time to hear Wilson speaking.

“Let me guess, you stopped when Bucky died.” Bucky froze. Steve had stopped what? Singing? That was… that was wrong. Not possible. This was the guy that had sung in the shower, or on long hikes during the war. There had always been music with Steve.

But he could see Steve nod, looking surprised. “Yeah, I guess I did. How did you know?” And fuck, that was just… so wrong.

“Because I stopped playing when Riley died.” The other man answered, and there was something in his voice that spoke of understanding. Understanding Bucky didn’t have. “It was… something we’d done together, to entertain the guys on base. I gave my guitar to one of them when I got out. Didn’t think I’d ever play again. But, the thing is, he wouldn’t want me to stop doing something I enjoy just because he couldn’t do it with me anymore. He died, but that doesn’t mean I did.”

Bucky sat still as a statue, ear glued to the glass door. What was Wilson implying? Steve couldn’t sing because it reminded him of Bucky? That was crazy. No way-

“I only ever really sang for Bucky,” Steve insisted. Bucky frowned. Sure, he’d sung for him a lot, but he’d done stuff with the other guys too. That Barbershop Quartet, for one. But then he thought about it, and he remembered how he’d pushed Steve to join that quartet, how when they’d sung at night around the campfire, or on the march, it had always been started by someone else. Steve had only started the songs on his own when he was with Bucky. With just Bucky. And Bucky remembered now, how so many of his songs had always been just for the two of them.

Wilson pulled out the guitar, and Bucky heard the longing in Steve’s voice, even as he still protested. _Sing, Steve_ , he silently urged his friend. _Don’t lose that just ‘cause of me_.

After some more arguing, the man started playing. And, hesitantly, Steve began to sing. It was… nothing at all like it had been before. There wasn’t the same joy there, the love Bucky knew he felt for the act of singing. Technically, Steve’s singing was good- he hadn’t lost any talent. But he wasn’t putting his whole heart into it.

Bucky listened for a good hour, before he noticed a change. He looked, and Steve was smiling. He’d move to sit next to Wilson, watching his fingers on the guitar. And he was singing a song Bucky didn’t know- singing, and enjoying it. Bucky sighed with relief.

Then Wilson shifted, giving Steve the guitar. He wrapped one arm around him, showing him where to put his fingers, and an irrational jealousy stirred in Bucky. He knew, rationally, that Steve wasn’t into guys, but seeing him so close to another person roused the anger that always lived close to the surface these days. It wasn’t right. That was _his_ place. Bucky should be the one with an arm around Steve. He left, before he could think of a reason to go in there.

 

The next morning, Bucky called Stark. “You have to talk to him,” he said.

“Oh, hello Tony, how are you? I’m fine Bucky, thanks for asking,” Stark said, sounding annoyed. “You’d think, growing up with Mr-polite-as-shit that you’d pick up some manners.”

“Hello Stark,” Bucky conceded. “You have to talk to Steve.”

“About what? I mean, I talk to him all the time, but he doesn’t usually listen. Can’t think of anything that would change that.” He could just hear Stark’s smirk. Bastard. Bucky found himself liking the man.

“He’s going to kill himself. I saw what he did to that gym, and he’s running himself into the ground.”

“Well,” Stark hummed, and Bucky thought he heard machines running in the background. “He’s a pretty hardy guy. I think he can handle it.”

Bucky shook his head. “No. He can’t. He’s been running _six hours a day_.”

“Eh, he’s just bored,” Stark said.

“But he’s-”

“If it bothers you so much, give him something to do. Go see him,” Stark suggested.

“I can’t,” Bucky said- it came out sounding broken and a little pathetic, like a child whining.

“Sure you can. Just go knock on his door. He’d be happy to see you.”

“Did you know he doesn’t sing anymore?” Bucky asked abruptly, changing the topic. Going to see Steve was not an option- the Winter Soldier still existed, could still be a danger to him.

“Sure. Says he’s no good whenever I try and drag him out to karaoke. It’s a real bummer, because with a voice like _that_ , well, I’d think he could really belt ‘em out.” Stark didn’t seem fazed by the abrupt change.

“He’s good. He’s really good. But he just told Wilson that he stopped singing when I… when I died.”

“Hmm,” Stark was clearly tinkering with something, Bucky could hear small explosions coming from the other end of the line. “Can’t say I blame him. Losing someone like that changes a guy.”

“But… he’s _Steve_ ,” Bucky couldn’t put into words just how wrong that was. “He’s always liked singing an’ drawing and stuff. That can’t just change ‘cause he loses me.”

“Well, it did. Can’t say I’ve ever seen him draw since he woke up, either.”

“What?” Bucky stopped cold. He’d made the call in the middle of a crowded shopping center, far away from his hideout, so Stark (or anyone else) couldn’t trace it to him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a place made for stopping quickly, and a woman almost ran into him from behind. He grinned apologetically at her, and she glared at him before walking away. A box of number 2 pencils fell from her bag and Bucky picked them up. She was gone, vanished in the sea of people before he had a chance to give them back.

“He doesn’t draw. I guess he was kind of a big artist before the war, I’ve seen the exhibit. He just probably decided to get serious about the whole Captain America gig, and give up the side job,” Stark was saying, and Bucky frowned. That _really_ wasn’t right. Drawing was what calmed Steve down, let him relax after a hard battle, got him to sleep at night. Back in Brooklyn, whenever Steve couldn’t sleep, Bucky had handed him a sketchpad. After an hour or so, he’d be zonked out, sound asleep. It had always been the go-to for him, whenever Steve was hurt, or sick, or worried about something. What calmed him now, if he didn’t draw?

“That can’t be right. You just haven’t seen him drawing. He probably only does it at home now.”

“Hate to say it, Iceman, but you know that’s not the case. I’ve been to his house- no drawings anywhere.” Stark sounded almost kind.

Bucky couldn’t process that. “I don’t… why? That doesn’t even make sense. If he’s upset, he should be drawing _more_ , not less.”

“Hey, I’m not a psychologist,” Stark answered. “But if I had to guess, maybe he doesn’t want to feel better about it. Like, if he feels better about losing you, you’re really gone.”

“But I’m not gone. I’m back, I’m alive.”

“Tell that to him. He doesn’t know for sure you’re still in there. I’d do it fast, because otherwise he really will kill himself. He did it once already didn’t he?” The snide comment was unexpected, and it threw Bucky for a loop.

“What?”

“He already tried to kill himself once. Or what else was that big stunt with the giant flying machine? If he hadn’t been all… super-soldier-y, he wouldn’t have lived at all. And since he woke up, he’s been throwing himself into danger. Case in point, when he told Agent Hill to fire on the helicarriers without evacuating. Guy doesn’t care if he lives or dies.”

Bucky tried to make sense of that. Tried, and failed. Steve and suicidal just didn’t go together. Sure, his sense of self-worth was ridiculously lacking, but he’d always had a fire in him, a love of life that Bucky hadn’t seen equaled in anyone else. “Steve _isn’t_ suicidal,” he snarled into the phone.

“Sure. He’s not actively trying to take his own life. Just doesn’t care when it ends. You ask me, which you didn’t, by the way, I think when he lost you, he lost everything he thought was worth sticking around for. And then you came back and tried to kill him, which, I know, wasn’t really you. But. He still blames himself for your death and the brainwashing.”

“That’s stupid,” Bucky shouted, drawing alarmed looks from some of the people around him.

“Tell him that. He’s got a martyr complex the size of the sun, and no real reason not to act on it.” Stark was snarling at him now, angry. Bucky didn’t know what at.

“What about Peggy?” he asked, “Or, hasn’t he met a girl here yet?”

“You think a girl is what he needs?” Stark asked, laughing at him. “He lost you. And then he lost everything he ever had and woke up in a strange time, with nothing to hold on to. What do you think he needs? He needs his best friend. And however hard any of us try, we’re just _not you_.” Stark was bitter, bitter beyond words. Something clicked for Bucky.

“He’s your friend,” he realized. He hadn’t thought, even when Stark had come looking for him, that he was doing it out of anything more than a whim.

“Bingo. One of the few who can actually claim that title. So I don’t like seeing him all twisted up inside. And that’s all your fault, Snowcone. So you’d better do something about it, don’t you think?” Something big exploded on Stark’s end of the line. “Oh, look, there goes the window. Pepper isn’t going to be happy when she sees that,” he commented. “Guess I gotta go. Take my advice, go talk to Steve.” With that, he hung up, leaving Bucky even more confused than when he began.

He sat down at a little table, staring at his phone and the packet of pencils he’d picked up. Steve wasn’t suicidal. He _wasn’t_. But Stark’s words had a ring of truth to them that Bucky didn’t like. Steve… he’d always relied on Bucky. Bucky had always protected him, believed in him. In return, Steve was his conscience, his heart. Steve kept him from giving in to his wilder, more destructive impulses, and he kept Steve from jumping into a fight he wouldn’t win. Together, they were an unbeatable team. Apart… well, look how well that had turned out. Now they had to pick up the pieces, and move on. And that meant that Steve needed to get over Bucky’s death. It hadn’t been his fault, and it wasn’t even permanent- Bucky was back. If anyone should be feeling guilty, it was Bucky. Steve wasn’t the one who had been brainwashed into nearly killing his best friend.

But Steve… he didn’t draw any more. That was hard to believe. Even harder than believing he didn’t sing anymore. That needed to be fixed, and right away. The rest… the rest, they could take care of together, once Bucky was ready to face him. But how to get him drawing again…? Bucky’s gaze fell onto the pencil box. And he knew. He just needed a push, the same way Wilson had gotten him to sing.

It took a few more days for Bucky to work up the courage to break into Steve’s hotel room. Then, when he finally thought he could do it, he had to wait until both Steve and Wilson had left the hotel. He slipped in through the same balcony he had listened to them sing from the other night, padding silently into the room where Steve had been living for the past week.

The sight of it hit him hard, harder than he thought it would. Here he was, actually standing in the same space Steve had been in just moments before. He was so close. If he could just stay there, sit down on one of the big beds and wait, Steve would come back. But no, it was still too dangerous. He placed the sketchbook on the bed that was most likely Steve’s- the one that had been neatly made, despite the fact that housekeeping would probably be in to clean it for them in a few hours. Steve always had been eerily organized for an artist.

Bucky turned to make his way out of the room, and caught sight of the guitar resting on a chair. Or, more accurately, _guitars_. It looked like Wilson was teaching Steve to play. That was good. He needed to do something. Steve needed to be distracted.

Bucky walked over and picked up one of the instruments. He had never learned to play, himself. But maybe, when this was all over, when he was fully himself again, he could. Maybe Steve could teach him. Steve, who was out running again for the third time this morning. Stark’s words echoed in his head- _guy doesn’t care if he lives or dies._ And _take my advice, go talk to Steve_. He pulled out his phone and turned it on, opening up the contacts list. He stared at Steve’s number, and sat down on the bed. Before he could convince himself not to, he hit the dial button.

It rang, and rang, and Bucky thought he wasn’t going to pick up. And then he heard it, the voice he had missed so much. “Hello?” He sounded breathless, winded, like he had been running full out for a long time.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” were the first words out of Bucky’s mouth. He could have hoped for something a little more refined, or even sarcastic, but it would have to do.

“Bucky! Where are you?” Steve’s voice took on a desperate edge, and Bucky knew if he told him, Steve would come right away, and Bucky would have to leave.

“That doesn’t matter,” he said. “What matters is you workin’ yourself so hard your body’s gonna give out.”

Steve gave a laugh, a real laugh, and it warmed something in Bucky. He felt another emotion come rushing back to him- happiness. He was happy, because he had caused Steve to laugh. “I’m not gonna die from running, Buck,” Steve told him. Bucky had to smile, that was just so _Steve_.

“Mmm,” he hummed, trying to keep the smile from his voice. “And how long have you been running for today?”

There was a pause as Steve thought, though Bucky already knew the answer was somewhere around three or four hours.

“Um… three hours, give or take,” Steve finally answered.

“And how many hours yesterday?” Bucky asked, knowing already. He just wanted Steve to hear it in his own words, so maybe it would make more sense.

“Five. No, wait, six and a half.” It had been seven. Bucky had followed at a discrete distance, always keeping out of sight. Steve had worn himself out, and still woken screaming from nightmares that night. Bucky didn’t like to think about what those nightmares were from.

“And it was five the day before that, and four the day before that. You _know_ that ain’t healthy,” he chided. Sure, Steve’s new-and-improved body could take that kind of exercise, but not day after day.

“Bucky, its fine. The serum-”

“Bullshit.” Bucky wasn’t going to listen to Steve tell him how it was perfectly ok for him to run himself to death, because the serum would keep his body going. “You’re still human. You’ve still got limits. And nobody, not even you, can keep going the way you’ve been and expect to be alright. You gotta stop this.” He knew his desperation was seeping into his voice, and didn’t care. Steve _had_ to stop, before he hurt himself.

“Okay,” Steve said, too easily. He never gave in that quickly.

“Okay?” Bucky asked, knowing a catch was coming.

“Okay. I’ll stop. _If_ you tell me where you are.”

Bucky should have really seen that coming. What should he tell Steve? He _wanted_ to let Steve find him. But it just wasn’t safe.

“I’m…” he tried to think of what to say.

“Please?” Steve’s voice sounded small and broken. And shit, Bucky couldn’t do this to him. Couldn’t keep hurting him.

“I’m in your hotel room,” he said, standing up. Steve was still close by. He would need to leave before he returned. “But I won’t be here when you get back.”

“Bucky-” he could hear Steve running, his breath coming in ragged gasps even as he held the phone to his ear. “Can I at least see you? I need to know that you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” he assured his friend. “I heal fast now. You didn’t do any lasting damage.” He didn’t ask about Steve. Couldn’t.

“Good. That’s… good. I’m okay too,” Steve said, and Bucky sagged in relief. He hadn’t _thought_ he’d done any damage that wouldn’t heal, but he hadn’t been sure. “I want to see you.” Steve sounded determined, the way he got when he wanted something and wasn’t going to give up for love or money. The last time Bucky had heard that tone, Steve had been determined to sign up for the war.

“No. I’m not…” Bucky couldn’t do it. Not today. Not yet. “Just, not yet, ok? You should stop chasing me.” He said it, already knowing Steve wouldn’t obey.

“No can-do, Buck,” his friend said. “I’m going to follow you until the end of the line.”

“You’ll get hurt,” Bucky tried, realizing as he said it that those words wouldn’t work.

“So could you. If I don’t follow, who’ll help you out when that happens?”

“You won’t catch me,” he said.

“So I’ll follow you until you come back to me. Or until I die of old age. I’m not giving up, Buck.” And that? That was classic Steve. Even when it looked like he couldn’t win, he never gave up. It was time to play the trump card, the truth he had to admit, even though it burned him to say it.

“I’m not really Bucky anymore. They- Hydra and the Red Room, they took that away.”

“You’re still you,” Steve told him, and his confidence almost made Bucky believe it. “Whoever that is, is good enough for me.” Bucky smiled, though he wanted to sob. Steve would always believe in him, always believe the best of him. Maybe, he could help Bucky believe it too.

“I’m not going to stop hunting Hydra,” he warned Steve, who laughed. And Bucky still loved that sound.

“Good, me neither. Once I find you, I’m going to exterminate every trace of Hydra. I could use your help.”

“We’d be more effective working apart, take out more bases that way.”

“Not an option. I’m finding you first, no matter what.”

Bucky had one last card to play. Steve protected people, that was what he did. If people were getting hurt because he wasn’t there… it was cruel to suggest it, but if it would make Steve stop following Bucky to where he could be harmed… “Even if more people are getting hurt?”

“That’s not the case,” Steve answered, and Bucky knew he was beaten. He never could win an argument with Steve. The best he had ever gotten was walking away before it could end, and even then Steve had left the room with the upper hand. “Right now, they’re so far underground they won’t surface for years, and even if they did, Fury’s on it. I’m not giving up, Buck. For anything.”

“You should,” Bucky insisted, giving it one last try. “You should give up on my, go back to your life.”

“Nope. Not happening.” Despite the argument, Steve actually sounded happy- happier than Bucky had heard him since he’d woken up.

“You should,” he insisted. Steve had reached the hotel, he could hear his footsteps echoing in the stairwell. Just like Steve, to be too impatient to wait for the elevator. “I’m going to go now. Don’t follow me.”

Bucky hung up as Steve started to yell something. He turned off the phone and removed the battery, effectively disabling any tracing device in it. Then he gave one last glance to the sketch pad on the bed, making sure it was where Steve would easily see it, and slipped out the window. He waited on the roof of the next building, watching Steve’s room through his scope, until Steve burst through the door. He searched the room from top to bottom, even going out on the balcony. Bucky ducked behind a ledge before Steve could see him, and cautiously raised his head a few moments later to find that Steve had gone back inside.

Steve came out of the bathroom and paused, staring at the bed- at Bucky’s gift. He picked it up, hugging the sketchpad and pencils to his chest. He looked lost. Bucky had to leave. Any longer, and he would go right back, to be at Steve’s side.

 

The next day, he left the city, back on the trail of Hydra. He was careful to be seen, though, leaving just enough of a trail for Steve to follow. And follow he did. For the next three weeks, Bucky led them back across the states, stopping every other day or so to blow up another Hydra base. He watched the news more often, to catch glimpses of Steve. He didn’t dare try to call again, knowing Stark would probably trace the phone.

Finally, he got a glimpse of Steve, leaving another burned-out base. He looked a little better, but not by much. He still seemed exhausted. Bucky doubled back, finding them camped out at a Best Western in a little town a few miles from the base he was going to hit next. This time, they didn’t have a balcony for him to sit on, but he’d been trained for stuff like this. He used that training to balance on the windowsill outside their room. Steve and Wilson were both inside, from the sound of it- practicing their guitars.

“Oh, come on, man, really?” Wilson was asking. Steve laughed, and Bucky felt that flare of jealousy again. He should be the one to make Steve laugh.

“Really. I like this song. We’ve heard it, what, five times on the radio just today? I figure, it’s time for me to try something from this decade. And maybe…” he trailed off.

“Maybe…?” Wilson asked.

“Maybe I can sing it to Bucky when he comes back,” Steve said softly. If his hearing hadn’t been enhanced by the Red Room’s experiments, Bucky never would have heard it.

“You want to sing this song to Bucky?” Wilson sounded dubious. “Are you sure you guys were just friends?”

“Sam!” Bucky couldn’t see in, but he could swear Steve was blushing at the accusation. “I told you. He’s my best friend. We weren’t like you and Riley.” Bucky nodded. It didn’t matter what he wanted. He’d never let himself want it before, and now… well, it didn’t matter. Steve liked girls. He’d never given any indication of being interested in men. In Bucky.

“Okay, okay,” Wilson gave in. “Still, it’s kind of a love song, dude.”

“It doesn’t have to be. It could just be about family,” Steve insisted, and Wilson sighed.

“Alright. Since you already went and got the sheet music and everything…” They started to play. At first, they didn’t sing, concentrating on the music. After a few run-throughs, when Bucky thought maybe he wouldn’t be able to hang onto the window any longer, Steve started to sing. And while he didn’t know Bucky was there, it still brought tears to Bucky’s eyes. Because Steve was signing to him, the same way he always had.

 

_Hold on to me as we go_

_As we roll down this unfamiliar rode_

_Although this wave is stringing us along_

_Just know you’re not alone_

_‘Cause I’m gonna make this place your home_

_Settle down, it’ll all be clear_

_Don’t pay no mind to the demons_

_They fill you with fear_

_The trouble it might drag you down_

_If you get lost you can always be found_

_Just know you’re not alone_

_‘Cause I’m gonna make this place your home_

 

 

The words were prefect. Exactly what Bucky needed to hear. He slipped away after that, Steve’s voice ringing in his head. That night, instead of preparing for the attack on the base like he’d planned, he used Stark’s money to buy a computer. He searched for the song and found it, purchasing the whole album and downloading it right away. He had the song memorized in a matter of hours, playing over and over in his head as he tried to sleep. Only, when he heard it in his mind, it was Steve singing.

The next day, Bucky went back. They were at a town a little further on, getting too close for Bucky’s comfort. But, as he sat there in the window, listening to Steve’s song for him, it occurred to him that since he’d talked to Steve, he hadn’t felt the Winter Soldier stirring in him even once. There were two more bases on his list, two more targets he had to take out. And then… he didn’t know. Maybe… maybe after that, he could go back to Steve. If he fought the next battle and didn’t wake the Winter Soldier even a little, that was what he would do. Of course, life doesn’t always work out like you plan, and it was the next day that things went to hell.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and for all your wonderful comments!! I'm glad you're enjoying this project of mine!
> 
> The next chapter should be up in a few days, and hopefully I'll be able to post the final chapter by Sunday. Please enjoy!

Steve’s nightmares didn’t stop after Bucky dropped in and left the sketchbook, but they sure as hell got a lot better. Sam was grateful. He hadn’t liked the way Cap had woken up in tears every night, but he hadn’t really known what to do about it either. He didn’t think Steve was the kind of guy who would accept pity or comfort for something like that. Dreams were personal, and there was a core to Steve that even Sam couldn’t touch. Maybe, if he hung around for a few years (and he was planning on it,) he would know Steve that well. But he didn’t let his guard down for anyone. Sam had a feeling he’d learned that in the war- don’t let anyone in, or they’ll disappear on you. When they got Bucky back (and not getting him back was not even an option any more- Steve needed him) Sam would have to have a talk with him about that. He figured, maybe the two of them and maybe Tony Stark and the Black Widow could go about bringing down those walls. Steve may want to shut people out, but he was also the kind of guy that _needed_ people.

The nightmares still bothered Sam though. He was glad Steve could sleep most of a night now, but he always woke up around two or three am to the sound of Steve’s muffled cries. He tried to help him with music- the best therapy he knew. It seemed to work a little, and he gave Steve back his songs (and reclaimed his own) in the bargain. But it wasn’t near enough. He wanted to do more, even going so far as to call Stark. Unfortunately, Stark had come up empty, beyond the obvious “get Bucky back.”

“What are we going to do?” Sam had asked him, hoping for some insight. Tony had known Steve longer than he had, and his dad had been friends with him back in the war. If anyone (besides maybe Bucky, and he wasn’t really available for consult at the moment) knew what to do for Steve, it would be Tony. “I can’t just keep pretending it doesn’t happen. He wakes up, and I can tell he’s terrified. I think he’s dreaming about the Soldier.”

“Not much we can do, bird-man,” Tony said, sounding tired. “If he doesn’t ask for help, you know he’s not going to take it. Not about that, anyway.”

“I hate this. I hate not being able to do anything.” Sam punched the wall, bruising his knuckles for his effort.

“Me too, dude. Me too. I put a tracker on the phone I gave Bucky, but he turned the damn thing off. He hasn’t used the credit card I gave him, either, so I can’t track him that way. And my open-source search program isn’t coming up with anything. The guy’s good.” Stark’s voice was admiring.

_He would admire a crazy psycho_ , Sam thought. What he said was “Wait, you gave him a cellphone _and_ a credit card? When did this happen?”

“About a day after Cap washed up on the Potomac. He wanted to find himself. I figured, hey, why not? The last thing Cap needed was to see a brainwashed murderer with his best friend’s face, so I gave him some pointers and some new clothes, then dropped him off at the Captain America exhibit in the Smithsonian.”

“And you didn’t tell us this, why?” Sam demanded.

“Because you’re taking it so well,” Tony told him with mock sweetness. “Seriously, do you think Cap needs to know his best friend is fighting a crazy guy in his own mind? Finding him like that almost destroyed him the first time. I wasn’t going to let it happen again. I figure, Bucky takes some time to get himself back together, Steve gets to go on a cross-country chase, they come back together in the end, everyone walks away happy.”

“You forgot about the part where the Winter Soldier dropped off the map and nearly took Steve’s sanity with him,” Sam growled. “And I don’t think you’re going to like Steve’s reaction when he finds out about this.”

“Which is exactly why I didn’t tell him,” Tony said in a tone most people normally used to explain things to small children. “He needs to focus on finding Bucky, not being irrationally mad at me. I’ll tell him later, I swear.”

“Mm-hmm.” Sam personally felt that Tony Stark’s swears were just about as good as the kind that came from serial liars. “If you don’t, I will.”

“I will, I will. I’m hurt that you don’t believe me.”

“Screw you, Stark.” Sam had gotten to know Tony well enough over the past few weeks, he felt comfortable enough saying that to him. The guy was a genius, but he could also be a really big jerk. It was a good thing Sam knew he really did care about Steve.

“And that is why I like you, bird-man. That, and you can keep up with Steve fucking Rogers.”

“Sure, but for how long? We both know Steve’s gonna work himself into the ground trying to follow Bucky. We’ve got the trail again, but Steve’s pushing it way too hard. He drove for twelve hours straight yesterday. _Twelve hours_ , Stark. He only took a break to get gas. Made me glad you gave us this gas-guzzler. Is there any way you can figure out what Barnes’ next move is, let us catch up to him or something?”

“Actually…” Tony trailed off, and Sam heard only silence for a few minutes, broken by Tony giving Jarvis some orders.

“Stark?” Sam prodded, after five minutes of silence.

“Sorry, Feathers. Got a little carried away. I think I can pick up his next target. You guys sent us the last files you found, yeah? Well, there’s a list of Hydra bases, and almost all of them have been taken out. If I plug that list into the computer, and run a comparison on locations of the destroyed bases and the likely locations of the remaining ones, I might be able to get you a list of targets. If I take that and cross it with the current trajectory he’s on…” Sam tuned out as Tony started to get into some techno-babble about charts and numbers and theories, looking out the window to where Steve was playing his guitar on the small hotel yard. There were some kids around him, and he was giving them the smile Sam had come to realize was his rare “genuinely happy” smile.

“Hello? Earth to bird-man. You still there?” Tony asked, drawing Sam back to the conversation.

“Huh, yeah. Sorry, you lost me for a minute there.”

“Ah. I keep forgetting not everyone’s a genius here. What I was saying is that I think I’ve found Bucky’s next target.”

“Oh thank god. Where?” Sam sank down on his bed, relieved. If they could find the target, maybe they could catch up to Bucky.

“Well, there’s only two targets left on this list, unless he had another one we don’t know about. The one closest to your location is about two hundred miles out, in West Virginia, of all places. I’ll forward you the coordinates.”

Coordinates in hand, Sam waited for Steve to finish up outside. He wasn’t going to let them leave until the morning. He needed the rest, even if Steve didn’t.

 

They arrived at the base early the next day, to find it quiet. Too quiet, with none of the usual sirens and fire they had come to expect from one of Bucky’s targets. There were even people milling about outside. It looked like an ordinary office building, but they’d learned pretty quick not to let looks get in the way of seeing what was really going on.

“He’s not here yet,” Steve said, a cautious hope in his eyes.

“Maybe Stark gave us the wrong target,” Sam suggested, trying to see in the building from their hiding spot in the Starbucks across the street. So far, he’d seen nothing suspicious.

“I don’t know. Bucky _was_ heading in this direction. Maybe we really did get here first for once.”

“Ok. So what do you want to do?” Sam was willing to take Steve’s lead on this. He just hoped nothing went wrong. He didn’t know if Steve could take it, if Bucky wasn’t in his right mind when they found him. He carried that sketchbook he’d found in the hotel room around like a kid with a favorite blanket, always checking to make sure it was there. He didn’t draw in it, though, which worried Sam. Obviously, he’d stopped drawing around the same time he’d stopped singing, and Bucky wanted him to start again. If the Winter Soldier had gone so far as to break into their hotel room to leave the sketchbook, it meant he thought getting Steve to draw was pretty damn important. But so far, Sam hadn’t had any luck convincing him to even attempt a picture.

“I think we should go investigate. Something smells fishy about this place, and if Tony’s right, and it really is a target, Bucky could be in danger. I- hang on. I know that guy,” Steve pointed to a man in a nondescript outfit, carrying what might be a white lab coat over his arm.

“Who is he?” Sam asked.

“He used to work for SHIELD, science division. I think he was working on some sort of weapons program that got scrapped after the thing with Loki.”

“You think he’s Hydra?”

“Got to be. Why else would he be here?” Steve stood, downing the last of his coffee. Sam followed suit, walking just behind his friend as he left the coffee shop and crossed the street. Instead of entering the building from the front, Steve took them down a side alley. He used his shield to break the handle off a back door and let them in. Sam quickly shot out the security cameras, thankful for the silencer on his gun.

Together, they prowled through the seemingly deserted hallways. For all the activity up front, there didn’t seem to be anyone in the building. In one room, they found rows of computers, all showing the Hydra logo in a blood red as the screen saver. Steve ignored them, but Sam tried to use one. Unfortunately, it required a password he didn’t have to get at any files.

“Sam, over here,” Steve called in a whisper. Sam joined him to find a desk covered with files. The top file held a list of Hydra bases in mainland US, all but two crossed off.

“This is the list Bucky’s been following,” Steve said. “Look, they’ve circled this one. I think they knew he was going to be coming here.”

“Steve, look!” Sam caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned in time to see the tail of a lab coat disappearing around the corner.

“Come on,” Steve gestured to him to be quiet, and followed the lab coat.

They trailed whoever it was down more deserted hallways, past cleaned-out labs and vacant offices. At times, it seemed like he or she was deliberately slowing down to allow Steve and Sam to follow their trail. Something felt off about the whole thing, and Sam could tell from the looks Steve shot him that he noticed it too. At last, they came to a dead end in a door labeled “Experimental Sciences.” Steve gestured for Sam to stop, and the fell back a few feet for a whispered conversation.

“It’s probably an ambush on the other side of the door,” Steve told him, readying his gun and his shield. They’d come in civilian clothes, but Steve wore his uniform underneath. It gave him an odd bulky look until he took off the collared shirt and khakis, leaving them in a neat stack on the floor.

“We’re about to walk into an ambush, and you’re folding clothes,” Sam whispered, shaking his head.

Steve shrugged. “Sorry, old habit. The nuns, and then Bucky’s mom, threw a fit if I didn’t fold everything.”

“Huh. I guess that makes you a good roommate. Too bad we couldn’t bring my wings.” Sam knew his wings would be all but useless in a fight indoors, but he still felt naked without them on his back.

“It was a risk just bringing my shield,” Steve told him, double-checking his suit. “If anyone had made us before we got in here, we could have been in real trouble.”

“Who’s to say they didn’t?” Sam said, then wished he could take the words back. They sent an uncomfortable chill up his spine.

Steve ignored him. “Got your gun?” he asked, and Sam nodded, showing him the weapon. “Okay. We go in on three.” He walked to the door. Sam followed, raising his pistol.

“One… two… three!” Steve kicked in the door, and came face-to-face with the business end of a rifle. Behind it stood a guard in a black STRIKE uniform. Next to him, Sam could see several similarly dressed and equipped men. He turned, ready to make a run for it with Steve, but before they could two more guards stepped out from rooms on either side of the hall behind them.

They were herded into the room where the guards surrounded them, taking the weapons and Steve’s shield. Sam waited for them to search him, afraid they would find the gun hidden in the waistband of his pants (a good way to lose a part of his butt, but better than no backup weapon,) but they seemed to be in a hurry. No one searched them for hidden weapons. Then, a door on the other side of the room opened to admit the former SHIELD scientist.

“Captain America! What a surprise,” the man said, adjusting his white lab coat with shaking hands. “I can’t say we were expecting you. However, this gives us a wonderful opportunity.”

“I remember you,” Steve told the man, eyes like blue eyes. “Sims, right? You worked on the 30th floor, weapons tech. What are you doing here?”

“Don’t play dumb, Captain. It doesn’t suit you. You know perfectly well this is a Hydra base, and I’m sure you’ve inferred that _I_ am a Hydra operative.” The scientist went to a table, where a syringe and several vials were laid out, where he picked up the syringe and one of the vials. “You know, a lot of the guys thought you were just dumb muscle, but I never made that mistake. When you showed up on the day that was to be our triumph, I knew you would get in the way of our plans yet again. So I escaped, and made it my priority to ensure you wouldn’t be able to interfere anymore.” He flicked the syringe, filled now with an amber liquid, and hummed tunelessly.

“I have to say, I wasn’t expecting you to walk right into my hands. I had planned to test this first on your friend that’s been destroying our bases, but I will take the chance when it is offered me.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Steve declared as the man walked towards them. Sam reached carefully for his concealed gun.

“Oh, my dear Captain-” the man started to say, but was cut off when the door burst open. Six shots were fired in rapid succession, and Sam stared as the guards collapsed around them. He turned to the door, gun in hand, to see the Winter Soldier.

“Steve,” the soldier said, and his eyes softened, a smile growing on his lips. In that instant, Sam would have bet Stark’s fortune that whatever Steve felt for Bucky, Bucky felt exactly the same. “Just can’t mind your own business, can you?”

“Bucky,” Steve breathed, reaching a hand out to his friend. And that was when the scientist struck, plunging the syringe into Steve’s neck.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, everyone, for your wonderful comments and kudos! Hearing people like my stories has seriously made my week. You all are amazing and awesome!!
> 
> This one hurts a bit, I'm sorry to say. But either tomorrow or Monday I'll have the final chapter of Anagnorisis up, and it'll make everything (relatively) better. And then it's on to the next and final part of this monster project. Please enjoy, and thank you so much for reading!!

Steve felt the syringe go into his neck and mentally prepared himself for the worst. It _burned_ as the serum went into his veins, spreading through his body like fire. Fire that quickly became ice as the sensation turned from burning to freezing. He fell to the floor, every molecule aching, and his world narrowed until all he knew was pain.

_Why now?_ a part of him cried out, _I had just found Bucky!_

Bucky! That name called him out of the world of pain, dragging him up to the surface despite the agony of his body. He coughed, a deep aching cough that reminded him of days in a hospital bed, and forced himself upright. Sam was beside him, holding his shoulders and calling his name, but Steve’s eyes sought out Bucky. Because that had been Bucky in the doorway, _all_ Bucky, not any part the Winter Soldier. Only now, now Bucky was roaring, an inhuman sound, pounding his fists into the scientist’s head over and over again. Steve was pretty sure the guy was already dead, the bullet hole above his eye was a clear indicator even to his pain-fogged brain.

“Bucky!” Steve croaked out, voice dry and pained. Bucky didn’t respond. “ _Bucky_!” Louder, stronger. Still nothing. Steve forced himself up, leaning on Sam. As he stood, he felt strength return to him, the pain receding until it was at a manageable level. He took a shaking step forward, putting Bucky within arm’s reach, and grabbed his metal arm as he pulled it back for another punch.

Bucky, no, the Winter Soldier whirled, snarling, eyes wild. His punch landed on Steve’s shoulder, knocking him back a few steps. He kept his grip on Bucky’s arm though, pulling him forward. The soldier tensed, flesh arm readying for another attack even as he twisted the metal arm to escape. Steve braced himself, body screaming in protest, waiting for the next blow. A blow that never came. Because as Steve watched, awareness blossomed in Bucky’s eyes, pushing the blank hatred of the soldier out. Then comprehension dawned, followed swiftly by horror.

“Steve. God, Steve, did I…?” The metal arm went limp in Steve’s grasp, the flesh one coming up so his fingers barely brushed Steve’s shoulder.

“No, Buck. You didn’t. I’m fine,” Steve assured his friend, raising his own hand to trace the edges of Bucky’s face, hardly believing that, after all this time, he was right there. “I’m fine,” he said again, assuring himself as much as Bucky. He still felt like ice was burning in his veins, but it was manageable. Whatever was in that syringe, the effects of Project Rebirth would take care of it. He suppressed another cough.

“But I… Steve, I _hit_ you. I could have killed you! Why did you grab me like that, you stupid punk?” Bucky was crying now, and Steve pulled him close, releasing the metal arm to wrap both of his around his friend.

“You needed to stop,” Steve said simply, resting his face in Bucky’s hair. “And you didn’t kill me. That’s what matters. You didn’t. You came back to me.”

Bucky started to pull away, and it took more effort than Steve would have guessed to keep him tucked against his chest. “But I could have. Next time, I might.”

“No you won’t.” Steve had faith in Bucky. Bucky would never truly hurt him.

“Steve,” this time Bucky really did pull away, breaking out of Steve’s hold and crossing the room to stand as far away from him as he could get. He tugged at his hair, eyes wet with tears. “Steve, I’m dangerous. It’s not safe for you to be around me. Just… look at that, that’s your proof.” He gestured to the corpse of the scientist, now unrecognizable. Steve looked away from it, feeling ill.

“That’s not me,” he told Bucky. “It won’t _be_ me.”

“It might!”

“No, it won’t. You can’t kill me Bucky. You couldn’t on the carrier, and you can’t now.”

Bucky gave a strangled sob, looking anywhere but at Steve. “I almost killed you then. I would have, if you hadn’t fallen. Shit, Steve, I shot you so much, a normal human would have died!”

“But I didn’t. I didn’t die, and you _won’t_ kill me. I trust you.” Steve made to reach out to Bucky, but Sam held him back.

“Sam, let me go!” he snapped at his friend, wrenching his arm free. He stumbled forward, catching himself on the counter.

“Steve,” Sam said, eyes wide. “Steve, he’s dangerous right now.”

Bucky laughed, a harsh, bitter sound Steve didn’t like at all. “You should listen to the man, Steve. I’m _dangerous_.”

Steve shook his head. “Not to me. You came back before you did any damage. I know you won’t hurt me.” He felt like a broken record, repeating the same phrase in different ways, but he _had_ to get the message across to Bucky before he ran away. If he ran away, there was no telling when Steve would see him again, but right here, right now, Bucky was right in front of him. He’d even held him in his arms for a brief few seconds. It was more than he had dared hope for a year ago. It wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t ever _be_ enough, until Bucky was back where he belonged, at Steve’s side.

Bucky opened his mouth, looking torn. Then he closed it, the line of his jaw going stubborn, just like it always had when he made a decision he knew Steve wouldn’t like.

“Bucky,” Steve said sadly, reaching out. His hand shook. “Stay. Please.”

“No, Steve. I have to- I have to leave. I can’t let the soldier hurt you.” He turned, quicker than Steve’s eyes could follow, heading for the door the scientist had come in from.

“Bucky!” The name tore from his throat in a raw scream. Bucky stopped, hand on the door knob. He glanced back, just once. His grey eyes met Steve’s, filled with sorrow. And then he was gone. Steve ran, trying to follow, and tripped, falling flat on his face.

“Steve,” Sam was at his side in an instant, helping him up.

“Stay here, Sam,” Steve snapped, pushing his hands away. He was hurt, angry, frustrated, and furious with Sam for holding him back. He stood on his own, using the counter to pull himself to his feet. It was harder than it should have been. He felt a cold sweat breaking out over his body, and then he coughed once more. Phlegm came up in his throat. He swallowed it back down. It tasted coppery, like blood.

Steve searched the building from top to bottom. He bashed in the door to the security room and checked the tapes. He screamed Bucky’s name on every floor. The base was empty. Bucky was gone.

Steve’s temper let go in what looked like the main office. What he’d done, unknowingly, to the hotel gym, he did again here. With a roar, he overturned the desk, scattering papers everywhere. His fist shattered the computer screen, leaving droplets of blood on the floor where the glass shredded the skin of his hand. The glass table-top soon followed, thrown on top of a pile of kindling that had once been chairs. The waste basket, Steve sent sailing through the window. He heard some people scream on the street below, but didn’t care. In minutes, he was standing amongst complete devastation, shoulders heaving and breath coming in ragged gasps broken by coughs.

Sam found him like that, stopping in the doorway (carefully avoiding the splinters that hung from the hinges of what used to be a door.) “Steve,” he called quietly, hands extended, empty, like a man cornering a wild animal. “Steve, come on man, it’s time to go. He’s gone.”

“And whose fault is that?” Steve asked harshly. If Sam hadn’t held him back, hadn’t called Bucky dangerous, Steve would have been able to bring him home. He knew it. Sam’s eyes widened and he looked about to say something, give some reason for his actions, or claim it wasn’t his fault Bucky ran away. Steve didn’t want to hear it. “Fuck you, Sam,” he said, pushing past his friend and stalking off down the hall.

He heard Sam follow a few seconds later, already calling for the clean-up team Tony had sent following behind them. They would pull whatever useful information was left from the base and come up with some kind of cover story for what had happened. Their job would be harder because of what he’d done, but Steve didn’t care. Later, he knew he would feel guilty about that, but right now he just felt angry. Angry, and abandoned.

Sam respected his temper, letting Steve drive them back to the hotel in silence. When they got there, Steve grabbed the sketchbook from their room and went back outside. Just past the hotel, there was a large pond. The pack of pencils went hurtling into the water, and Steve drew his arm back with the sketchbook in hand, ready to throw it too. He paused at the last moment, dropping his arm. He looked at the book, opened it. Its blank pages stared back at him like an accusation. He slumped to the ground, defeated. He’d lost Bucky all over again.

After an hour or so, Steve heard footsteps coming up behind him and Sam silently sat down next to him. “Hey,” he said, quietly, carefully, like he was afraid he would be ordered to leave. Steve glanced at him and away again, regretting his earlier outburst.

“Hey,” he said, eyes on the water. Sam sighed, and didn’t say anything more. Silence reigned for a time, each man lost in his own thoughts. Eventually, Steve broke it. “I’m sorry,” he told Sam.

“Hey, no worries. You were upset. I understand.” Sam shrugged, and Steve felt his lips curl in a small, sad, smile.

“That’s no excuse for what I said.”

Sam laughed. “I’m pretty sure everyone swears when they’re upset. It’s like a requirement. To be honest, I was almost afraid you were gonna hit me when I found you in that room.”

“I wanted to,” Steve admitted, ashamed. “I blamed you for losing Bucky. But it wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”

“Fuck, no!” Sam said, grabbing Steve’s shoulder and turning him to look him in the eyes. “If it was anybody’s fault, it was Hydra’s. They’re the ones that took him and turned him into a weapon.”

“They only got him because I let him fall.” He turned away, couldn’t bear to see Sam’s sad, understanding eyes.

“Steve, look at me.” Sam shifted, moving to crouch in front of Steve, holding tight to his shoulders and forcing him to meet his eyes. Steve tried to look anywhere but at Sam’s face, but it was hard when Sam deliberately placed himself to fill Steve’s field of vision.

“I’m only going to say this once, so you’d better listen up,” Sam told him. “None of this is your fault. You, yourself admitted there was nothing you could have done to save him. The only thing you could have done was fall with him, and then Hydra would have gotten you too, and none of us would be here now.

“You didn’t give up on him. You searched for his body, but nobody, not even you, can search miles of forest and mountains on your own. You had a war to win, you had to save the people that were still alive, and no normal human could have survived that fall.

“Years after the war, when he was most active as the Winter Soldier, you were stuck in the ice. When you woke up, he’d been inactive for years. You couldn’t have known he was your friend until you saw his face. And when you did, you did your best to save everyone, including him. This is _not your fault_.”

Steve closed his eyes. He’d tried, he’d tried so hard. Realizing Bucky was still alive had sent a shock of joy through him, in the same instant that his heart had shattered with the realization that he was the Winter Soldier. Hearing his voice for the first time in seventy years had been wonderful, but those words- ‘Who the hell is Bucky?’ had sent daggers straight through his soul. Wounds he had assumed were long healed opened afresh, making him realize just how broken he still was. All he could think about after that had been saving Bucky. And when he’d saved the world, when it looked like Bucky wasn’t going to ever come back, he’d given Agent Hill the order to fire. He would have let himself die right there, rather than live to see Bucky captured or killed as an enemy. But then he’d heard Bucky scream, and he couldn’t just leave him. He would have let Bucky kill him, even as he tried to get him to remember, but then he’d fallen, and Bucky (it had to have been Bucky, there was no one else) had saved him.

Bucky was always saving him. Had been since they were kids. But right now, Bucky needed Steve to help save him, and he was running away from him. Trying to protect Steve from himself, the Winter Soldier. Steve didn’t need that protection. What he did need was Bucky to save _him_ one more time. From himself, Steve Rogers. And the only way he could see to save himself was to save Bucky. They were tied together in ways Steve didn’t always understand. Where Bucky went, Steve would find a way to follow, and vice-versa. Even if Bucky went to hell, Steve would gladly walk into the fire for him.

“Steve?” Sam was still in front of him. He offered Steve a handkerchief, and Steve realized with a start that he was crying. From the feel of it, he had been for some time. He hastily wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

“I-” Steve didn’t think he could put what he was feeling into words. “He was so close. Right there, right in front of me. And he left me.”

“He wants to keep you safe,” Sam said, sitting back down beside him, a comforting warmth against his shoulder.

“I don’t want safe,” Steve told him, echoing a decades-old conversation with Bucky. “I want to protect him.”

“He’ll come back,” Sam promised him. “You’ll see.”

Steve frowned. Sam sounded certain. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I was there today, too. He misses you. But you were his last mission as the Soldier, and he’s afraid if he comes back before he’s fixed himself he’ll hurt you.”

Steve began to say something and broke off, coughing. It felt like he was trying to cough up one of his lungs.

“Steve!” Sam was alarmed. “Are you ok? What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” Steve wheezed. “I just, I need water. Dry throat.” Sam nodded and stood, running back towards the hotel. Steve watched him go, still coughing. He wasn’t fine. Something was wrong, he felt sick, like he hadn’t been in years. Like he hadn’t been since Project Rebirth.

That night, Steve didn’t sleep. He was burning with fever, he could feel it even without a thermometer. He kept drinking water, trying to keep himself from coughing, but he was becoming dehydrated even so. His skin felt thin and papery, dry. Everything hurt. He could still feel whatever the scientist had injected in him, ice in his veins, burning.

Instead of telling Sam, he tried to hide it. He wore a dark shirt to hide the sweat from the fever, forced his aching body to move normally where Sam could see, and kept his distance so Sam wouldn’t feel how hot he was. He didn’t want Sam to get worried and send him to the doctor, which would delay their search. They had one more target on their list, one last chance to catch Bucky. He wasn’t leaving a trail anymore, that much was apparent fairly quickly. Steve couldn’t risk even a minute given over to anything that wasn’t trying to catch up with Bucky. They’d already lost the first afternoon while he brooded.

Two days later, they pulled into the target town to find the old “abandoned” military base blown sky-high. They searched for any sign of Bucky for hours, only stopping when Steve’s ailing body could no longer go on. He feigned simple exhaustion and concern for Sam, who looked just as tired. He let Sam drive them back from the ruins and get them a room in the hotel. Steve insisted on separate bedrooms, afraid Sam would hear him coughing in the night. They were quickly shown to a family suite on the fifth floor, two bedrooms sharing a joined bathroom and living area.

Steve called the first shower, standing with the scalding water running over his body. He had lost, Bucky had disappeared. He didn’t know where to find him now, where to go next. He felt lost. When he raised his hands, they were shaking. He pressed fingers to his pulse point and felt his heartbeat, weaker than it had been in years. He coughed, and drops of blood splattered the floor before being carried down the drain with the running water.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you all for sticking with me for this long! Your comments are wonderful, and I'm so glad you enjoy this story!! You are amazing!!
> 
> This is the final chapter of Anagnorisis, but not the end of the series. Sometime next week the final work in the series will start, a multi-chapter fic entitled Comitatus. It's looking to be about 28 chapters, from the POV of all the Avengers, but we'll see what happens. If you liked this story, please tune in to see if our boys will finally get together.

Bucky ran, Steve’s cry ringing in his ears. It was the single hardest thing he’d ever done, leaving him like that. But it was necessary. If he’d stayed… If he’d stayed Steve would have gotten hurt, or, more hurt. That he was hurt at all was already Bucky’s fault, he hadn’t been quick enough to stop the scientist, too blinded by seeing Steve again to notice the syringe in the man’s hand. And then, seeing Steve hurt had brought all the anger of the Winter Soldier right up to the surface. And he’d slipped, let it out, attacked the scientist, beat him until the corpse was unrecognizable. Steve had tried to stop him, and he’d turned on him instead.

Bucky had only hit Steve once before he was able to bring himself back from that place in his mind that was filled with the Soldier’s anger. But it was still one blow too much when he was supposed to be the one who protected Steve. Hurting Steve was unforgiveable, and he had now hurt Steve more than any one person he knew of. As Steve’s companion had said, he was dangerous. He didn’t know what would set him off again, or if he would be able to bring himself back in time to stop himself from doing Steve serious damage. His whole life he had been protecting Steve. He was still doing it, but now it was from himself.

He’d almost broken when Steve said ‘please.’ Almost stayed. God, he wanted to stay. It was only fear of what would happen if he did stay that forced him on. He ran hard and fast, trying to outdistance the broken, desperate sound of Steve’s voice calling his name. He didn’t stick around to sack the base. It was empty, all Hydra personnel either dead or fled, all useful intel gone. Nothing to stay for, except for Steve. He ran faster.

Back on the road he drove without stopping, save for a few hours restless sleep in a truck stop halfway through Georgia. His dreams were haunted by Steve’s devastated eyes and a syringe filled with amber liquid being stabbed into his neck. At last, when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to get to sleep, he turned his stolen car back on and drove.

Two days of driving brought him to the target. It was an old military base, abandoned and then re-purposed to suit Hydra’s needs. A few hours of surveillance told him all he needed to know- the base was empty. Knowing that, he had two options. Go in, spend a few hours searching for anything useful they might have left behind- and maybe give Steve time to catch up to him. Or do what he really, really wanted to do, and dig out the high-grade explosives he’d stashed in the trunk and turn it into a crater.

The explosions were flashy, but oh-so-satisfying. Bucky watched from a distance as spectators showed up, even before the firefighters and police. Then he slipped off to where he had hidden his car, wondering how they would explain what he’d done. The rest of his Winter Soldier arsenal was laid out in the back of the vehicle- a nondescript black sedan Hydra had once used to transport him. He dismantled the guns, packing everything up neatly. Doing so was one more piece of himself reclaimed. The Soldier hadn’t cared about the upkeep on his weapons- every time he woke up, he was handed something new- but Bucky had always been careful with his gun, because it was the one thing he relied on to save Steve’s life back in the war.

Bucky tried to sleep again after that, hoping that by finishing his list of targets he could finally take some rest. His self-given goal had been to wipe out Hydra in the continental United States. That was finished, and all the other bases he knew about were scattered across the world. The remnants of SHIELD would be working on taking those down, and Bucky could at last rest and try to make some sense of what his life had become. He needed to work on that burning anger in him, get it under control, so he could go back to Steve.

Sleep wouldn’t come. Every time he closed his eyes, Bucky saw Steve’s face. The cautious joy in his eyes when he’d seen Bucky at that base. The pain written across his face as the scientist attacked him. The lonely, lost look he’d had when he begged Bucky to stay. He’d been so close. Had been wrapped in Steve’s arms, safe, home. He wanted to go back there, so, so badly. But he couldn’t. Doing so would put Steve in danger from the one thing he couldn’t protect himself from- Bucky.

Bucky turned over and wrapped himself more tightly in his jacket, the backseat of his car becoming colder as the night wore on. He pressed his face into the seat and groaned. He couldn’t do what he wanted, and he had no idea how to do what he needed. How did you take seventy years of brainwashing and turn it off? How did he go about making himself safe for Steve?

Steve, who had been attacked, injected with some unknown liquid. He’d said he was fine, but how did they really know that? Steve was a shitty liar, and he’d been in a lot of pain. Thoughts Bucky had been avoiding, running from as surely as he was running from Steve, started pouring in. He heard again that cough, the harsh and painful sound that had torn from Steve’s chest. He started to worry. Would Steve’s companion, Wilson, or Sam, or whatever he called himself, be able to tell if something was wrong?

By the next morning, Bucky had convinced himself that he needed to check on Steve. He couldn’t talk to him again, every time they saw each other it was more likely Steve would convince him to stay, but he could at least make sure he was recovered. So he found a good vantage point from which to look over the ruins he had created the day before and waited.

Steve and Wilson showed up soon after he settled in. The police let them through with minimal fuss, and the pair split up to explore. Wilson started checking what might have been the old barracks, but Steve went further back. Bucky followed him. He didn’t like the way Steve started limping as soon as he thought he was out of sight.

In the back of the base, Steve stopped, resting his head against a partially standing wall. Bucky crept as close as he dared. Through his scope, he could see Steve’s chest heaving, his eyes closed. Then he started coughing, the deep and painful cough Bucky remembered so well from winters when they were children. Bucky froze, stunned. The super-soldier serum was supposed to mean Steve never got sick again. He’d survived camping in German winters without so much as a sniffle, and Bucky had seen him bounce back from shrapnel to his chest in a matter of days. But now, he was doubled over, gasping between coughs as he tried to catch his breath.

Before Bucky could decide whether to go to him or not, Steve straightened. He wiped his mouth and took a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping his face. The cloth came away soaked through- Steve was sweating, even though it was a cool day.

Bucky watched as Steve made his way through the rest of the ruins. Whenever he was in sight of others he stood straight and acted normal. When he wasn’t, and he seemed to be trying to stay on his own, he slumped and stumbled. He had three more coughing fits as Bucky watched, and each time it lasted longer and took him more time to recover. He fell once, and Bucky almost left his hiding place to run to him before he got up. He knew by then that something was seriously wrong, and he was just as certain that Steve was trying to hide that fact.

After several hours, Wilson made his way back to find Steve. The minute Steve heard him coming, he forced himself upright from where he had slumped against a pile of rubble to rest. Wilson clapped him on the shoulder, not seeming to notice the way Steve seemed to duck under the slight pressure. Steve said something, and Wilson laughed. Then Steve gave _Wilson_ his concerned look, and the pair of them walked back to their car. Bucky followed, staying out of sight. As far as he could tell, Wilson seemed oblivious to Steve’s weakness. For someone who was supposed to be taking care of Steve, he was doing a piss-poor job of it.

They checked in to a hotel. It took Bucky some time to find the right window, but soon enough he was perched on the roof of a neighboring building and staring through his scope as Steve laughed at something Wilson said and Wilson tossed him a towel. Steve disappeared into the bathroom, and Bucky came up with a bad idea. Steve liked to take his time in the shower, doubly so when he was sick. Bucky had used to tease him that he was like a girl that way. He estimated he had about half an hour before Steve would come out. That was more than enough time for Bucky to get in there and talk to Wilson.

Picking the lock on the door was child’s play. His metal arm had been updated for modern key-card technology a few years back, and all he had to do was pull a slim plastic card from a storage compartment and slide it into the lock. The tech in his arm did the rest, and the little light on the door glowed green. He opened it, padding silently into the room. Wilson was standing with his back to the door, flicking through the channels on the television. Bucky cleared his throat and watched the man jump, spinning around and drawing a gun in the same movement.

“You’re good,” Bucky told him, letting the door shut behind him. “I didn’t even see you draw the gun.”

“Sargent Barnes,” Wilson said, not lowering the weapon.

“Relax, I’m not here to fight.” Bucky raised his hands, both empty, to emphasize the point. “I just came to talk.”

“Steve’s busy right now.” Wilson was glaring at him, distrustful.

Bucky nodded. “I know. I came to talk to you.”

“What about?” The man frowned at Bucky, positioning himself (and his gun) between him and the door to the shower.

“Steve. He needs someone to take care of him, and right now you’re it.” The words tasted bitter as they left his mouth. “But you’re doing a crap job of it.”

“What are you talking about?” Wilson demanded.

“He’s sick, if you haven’t noticed. That scientist injected him with something, and I think it’s making him sick. Or have you really not noticed the coughing fits, or the way he’s been avoiding being around people?”

“I did notice.” Thank god for that. Maybe the man wasn’t as hopeless as Bucky had thought.

“And? What are you going to do about it?” If it were Bucky, he’d tackle Steve and sit on him until he agreed to go to the doctor- it was a tactic he’d used multiple times in the past.

Wilson sighed. “I don’t know. He’s not going to accept my help, and I can’t force him to go to the hospital. I was thinking about calling Stark when you showed up.”

“Huh. Not a bad plan. You think Stark can get him to the doctor?”

The other man opened his mouth to say something when the bathroom door opened, revealing Steve, towel wrapped around his shoulders.

“Bucky?” he asked, eyes hopeful. Then he saw Wilson’s gun. “Sam! Put that down. Bucky’s not going to hurt us.”

Bucky was frozen in place. Half his instincts were telling him to run, to get as far away from Steve as possible. The other half were telling him to grab Steve and keep him safe, get him to a doctor. Steve’s eyes were fever-bright, and his voice sounded raw from coughing.

“You can’t know that, Steve,” Wilson said, gun not moving from where it was aimed at Bucky’s heart.

“I can, and I do. He’s Bucky, not the Winter Soldier. He won’t attack.”

“Don’t-” Bucky swallowed and tried again. “Don’t be so sure. He’s still in here.” He tapped his skull. Wilson tensed when he moved.

“No,” Steve shook his head. “It’s your eyes. Yours, not the Soldier’s.”

Steve didn’t know what he was talking about. His eyes, or the eyes of the Winter Soldier, it didn’t matter. It could change in a heartbeat. “Well… I should go. You,” Bucky pointed to Wilson, “remember what I said.”

“Bucky,” Steve reached out, pushing past Sam. Bucky took a step back, towards the door.

“Steve, I have to. I- I can’t-” he couldn’t get the words out. All his reasons felt worthless in the face of Steve’s imploring gaze. He’d already left Steve twice. If he waited much longer, he didn’t know if he would have the strength to do it again.

“No, you don’t. We can-” whatever it was he thought they could, Bucky wouldn’t get to find out because at that moment Steve gave an odd sort of gasping cough and fell to the floor.

Bucky was at his side in a moment, all thought of leaving forgotten in his need to help Steve. Wilson was there too, reaching out to block Bucky from getting to his friend. Bucky ignored him, falling to his knees and picking Steve up.

“Come on, buddy, breathe,” he said, turning Steve onto his back, the fingers of his flesh hand going straight to a pulse point and resting there. Steve’s heartbeat was weak, thready, and far too fast. His skin was burning. More worrying, he was gasping for breath, coughs tearing from his chest in between gasps.

“Breathe,” Bucky repeated, lifting him into a sitting position. “Come on, you can do it. In, and out. In, and out.” His words were far calmer than he felt, but he remembered this, coaching Steve through asthma attacks as kids. He found Steve’s hand and placed it on his own chest so Steve could feel him breathing. He needed to calm down, first and foremost.

“Don’t-,” he choked out, words half-cough, “don’t go.”

“I won’t, Stevie. I promise. I’m right here. I’m right here. You gotta breathe now, see, in and out.” He took a deep breath, and Steve tried to do the same. He was calming. Bucky kept talking in a soothing voice, breathing deeply to show Steve how it was done. Gradually, his coughing stopped and his breathing returned to normal. Somehow, Bucky and Wilson got him up and into a bed, where he sank into a fitful sleep.

“He’s exhausted,” Bucky observed, feeling guilty. Steve had been pushing himself looking for him.

“Yep.” Mercifully, Wilson didn’t mention what he thought about that. “He’s been working too hard, without rest. And whatever this is, it’s not helping.”

Bucky pulled out his phone and put the battery back in it. “I’m going to call Stark. He probably knows, or can find which doctors have worked with Steve before, and which ones know anything about the super-soldier serum. I don’t want him being poked and prodded by some quack that doesn’t know him from Adam, and who knows what’s causing this.”

Wilson nodded. “Sounds good. He can get the SHIELD doctors down here to fix him up.”

Bucky turned away from the bed and took a step towards the door. He was stopped by a tug on his shirt. He looked back to see Steve’s hand wrapped in the fabric, his eyes open and pleading. “Don’t go,” he said, voice weak. If Bucky’s ears hadn’t been enhanced by his own version of the serum, he never would have heard him. He paused, torn. Steve needed him. But he wasn’t safe. But Steve clearly didn’t care.

Wilson looked between the two of them, and sighed, shaking his head. “You sit,” he told Bucky. “ _I’ll_ go call Stark. You’re not going to leave him like that, and I guess I wouldn’t let you. You’re right, he needs someone to watch over him. And the one he wants is you.”

Bucky nodded, and Steve released his shirt. He sat when Wilson glared at him, nodding significantly to the chair next to the bed. Then Wilson left, and they heard his voice in the other room as he told Stark what they needed. Before Bucky could decide whether to stay or leave anyway, Steve reached out and clasped his hand, making it clear he didn’t want Bucky going anywhere.

“Okay,” Bucky folded. He never could win an argument with Steve, no more than he could deny him anything when he looked so pathetic and sad. “You’re ridiculous, you know that, punk?”

“You’re a jerk,” Steve whispered, but he smiled.

Wilson came back into the room. “Stark’s on his way. From what he was saying, it seems like he’s bringing a small army of doctors.” His eyes fell on their entwined hands. “You staying?”

Bucky nodded. “But I want you to do me a favor, ok?” Wilson looked at him dubiously, but nodded. “I want you to keep that gun close. If it even looks like I’m gonna hurt him, you shoot me.”

Wilson nodded again, hand falling to touch the gun in its holster at his side. Bucky expected Steve to protest, but his friend had fallen back to sleep. It was probably for the best. The idea of Wilson shooting Bucky might have set him off again. At the very least, he would worry about it. And right now, he didn’t need to worry about anything other than getting better.

 

In a few hours, Stark breezed in the door to the hotel with three doctors following in his wake. It was unexpectedly fast, considering that he would have had to collect the doctors _and_ fly from New York to their location, however it still felt like too long to Bucky. While they waited, Steve had had two more coughing fits, and with each one the color seemed to fade from his skin a little more. Bucky didn’t remember when he’d done it, but at some point he’d adjusted their hands until the fingers of his flesh hand pressed to Steve’s pulse point, keeping track of a gradually weakening heartbeat.

“Well, if it isn’t the Winter Snowcone and the Capsicle. Together at last,” Stark cried as he entered the room. Steve didn’t even stir. Stark stopped beside the bed, looking down at his friend, and Bucky couldn’t read his expression. “He looks like shit,” Stark observed, gesturing the doctors forward.

“Are you just going to stand there making useless comments?” Bucky asked as two of the doctors circled around to stand on either side of Steve’s bed.

“That depends on whether you’re just going to sit there looking like someone kicked your puppy,” Stark retorted. Bucky smothered a laugh. He definitely liked the guy. He had a gift for saying exactly the right thing, layered with sarcasm so you didn’t know whether to punch him or feel better.

What followed was hours of doctors prodding at Steve, who continued to sleep. Bucky and Wilson both told of the attack in the base multiple times, and watched as the third doctor took multiple blood samples.

“We’ll compare this to the blood we already have on file, to see if there are any anomalies present,” one of the doctors told them. “It could be that the serum he was injected with was meant to counter the effects of Project Rebirth, in which case his system is probably fighting it off, and that is what is making him sick.”

“Can it actually do that? Make him… like he was?” Bucky wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“If it were going to do so, I believe it already would have,” the doctor said, reaching into her bag for a thermometer. “It’s too bad we don’t have a sample of it.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Stark was grinning, a slim square of clear glass in his hands. He touched it, and pictures of the vial the scientist had drawn the serum from appeared on it. “My clean-up team picked up some bottles from a lab with a bunch of dead guys in it. I’ll have a team start running analysis now.” He touched the glass again, and held it up to his ear. “Bruce? Tony. I need you to start working on that stuff we found. Think you can do that? Yeah. Ok. We’ll be back soon.” He lowered the- it had to be a cellphone- from his ear and announced “We have a Hulk. He’ll be running the science team.”

“No way, you brought in _Bruce Banner_?” Wilson asked, looking impressed. Bucky shrugged. He’d read up on the Avengers, and Steve’s work with them, and figured at least if Banner was helping, they had the two brightest scientific minds in America working to make Steve better. That was all he cared about.

“Only the best for our dear Captain,” Stark told them, pleased with himself.

 

Steve woke up briefly as they transferred him to Stark’s plane, but when he saw Bucky was the one carrying him, he sighed and slipped back into sleep. On the plane, Bucky sat with Steve’s head in his lap, metal arm keeping him secure while his flesh fingers stayed firmly on his pulse point. He acted like a living heart monitor, alerting the doctors to any changes in Steve’s condition.

Steve got worse, temperature rising to levels that most normal people wouldn’t survive. He didn’t wake up again, but his sleep was restless. He mumbled in his sleep, and once or twice Bucky was absolutely certain he had called his name. The doctors gave him medication to counter his symptoms, but without knowing what was wrong, they couldn’t do anything else.

When they got back to New York, they were taken, not to a hospital, but to Stark Tower, where Stark had a medical ward all set up.

“I figured it’s best to be prepared,” he told them when Wilson asked. “You never know what we’re going to run into out there.” He paused, then shrugged. “And I hate hospitals. They smell funny.”

They transferred Steve to a hospital bed, and hooked up all kinds of machines to him. A quiet man someone addressed as Dr. Banner entered. He squeezed Steve’s hand and smiled at Bucky. “You must be Sargent Barnes,” he said, offering his hand to shake. Bucky was impressed when he didn’t flinch as Bucky took it with his cybernetic hand. “I’m-”

“Bruce Banner, I know,” he pulled his hand back when Banner released it, eyes flicking to Steve before looking back up at the other man. “Thanks for helping out Steve here.”

“Always glad to help a friend,” Banner shrugged. “I was in Mexico when Tony called me. I came up as fast as I could, and spent the last couple of weeks going over the data Steve got from the bases.”

“Why?” Bucky didn’t understand why Stark would call in another scientist to look at that data. He would have expected him to forward it on to whatever agency was taking SHIELD’s place.

“Well,” the man looked down. “We were looking for a way to help you, actually. See if we could undo whatever they did to you. But it looks like that’s not necessary now.” Banner grinned shyly at him. Bucky nodded.

“Well, maybe you could help some. I’ve still got some, ah, issues that need taking care of.”

“Issues, he says,” Stark entered the room, coming to stand beside Steve’s bed. “Does that have anything to do with Sam Wilson keeping a gun at his side at all times? Or the fact that you told JARVIS to alert me if it looked like you were going to lose control?”

“Just covering the bases. I don’t know how much of the Soldier programing is still left, and I want to keep Steve safe.” Talking to Stark’s AI had been odd, it was difficult to wrap his head around the fact that the incredibly lifelike responses had been coming from a computer and not a living human.

“Good plan. Let me know if you want me to take a look at that arm.” Stark eyed the mechanical appendage with open avarice, clearly wanting to get his hands on it.

“Sure. Maybe when Steve’s better. I’d like to know more about it myself. They only ever told me what I needed to know for a mission.” Despite the man’s arrogance and casual manner, Bucky thought maybe he could trust Stark. Steve obviously did, or he wouldn’t have worked with him.

“Maybe I can make a few improvements,” Stark suggested. “I bet I’m a million times better than any Hydra tech. Or maybe a billion.” His humility was astonishing.

“Sirs?” The lead doctor stuck her head into the room, looking from Stark, to Banner, to Bucky. “We have the results back from our tests.”

“Well come in and tell us,” Stark said, gesturing for her to enter. Her team followed behind her. One went to the computer console and called up a projection of the results, while the other handed Banner a tablet showing a readout of the tests.

The woman frowned at Steve, coming over to check his temperature before anything else. Bucky decided he liked her, her priority was Steve’s health.

“This is…” Banner looked up from the tablet, eyes wide.

“It’s a version of your own serum, designed to exactly counter all its effects,” the doctor said, picking up a syringe.

“What’s that,” Bucky asked, eyeing the needle.

“Painkiller.” She injected the contents into Steve’s IV line. “He’s going to need it. From what we can tell, since what he was given was designed against Dr. Banner’s serum and not the one created by Abraham Erskine, it can’t do anything other than make him very sick. But it is targeting his weak points, specifically, any organ that was damaged prior to the administration of Project Rebirth.”

Bucky felt himself go pale. “That means…! His heart. Is his heart gonna be ok?” Steve’s physical heart had always been far weaker than his soul’s equivalent. It had only been after he’d taken the super-soldier serum that his body had reflected the spirit within.

“What are we looking at here, doc?” Stark walked over to the projections, pushing and pulling the displays until all the results were displayed side-by-side. They didn’t mean anything to Bucky, but Stark looked serious.

“The effects of Dr. Erskine’s serum are ultimately more powerful than the more recent injection, and should overcome any effects in time. Captain Rogers _will_ be fine.”

“Why isn’t he waking up?” Bucky asked, worried despite the doctor’s reassurance.

“He’s healing. Our scans indicate that, since he’s arrived in this building, his overall rate of recovery has accelerated. It’s possible that he doesn’t wake up because his body is simply expending too much energy fighting the new serum.”

“If it counters all the effects of my experiment,” Banner said, hope in his eyes, but the doctor shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Doctor. I said it was _designed_ to counter its effects. That isn’t what it does. The man who created it didn’t fully understand what he was working with. What he created was more like a virus, something that will aggressively attack an enhanced system. Captain Rogers can fight it, because his serum is stronger. It would likely kill you, sir.”

“I see.” Banner looked like a starving man that had been offered a feast, only to have it taken away before his eyes. Bucky felt sorry for him. He was learning what it was like to hate part of what you were, and he couldn’t say he cared for the experience at all.

“Cheer up, big guy,” Stark said, still playing with the displays. “Maybe we can tweak the design a little. Once we get Cap up and walking around again, we’ll take a look.”

Banner smiled at Stark, and Bucky was struck by the idea that Stark was actually a very good man, under the sarcasm and seeming lack of responsibility.

“So what does this mean for Steve?” Bucky asked, trying to get them back on topic. While Banner’s problems were interesting, they didn’t matter at all right now.

“He’s going to be very sick for a while, I’m afraid,” the doctor said. “But it looks like he _will_ recover. I would recommend someone stay with him at all times for the next forty-eight hours, just in case, but by the end of it he should be out of danger. Preferably, it should be someone he knows and trusts, and someone who knows his past health issues and what to watch for should any flare up.”

“Sounds like you, ice-man,” Stark said, coming over to clap Bucky on the shoulder. This time, Bucky didn’t throw him, which actually made him a little proud of himself. “You grew up with him didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did.” The doctor was looking at him curiously now, but Bucky wasn’t about to explain. “You sure you can keep him safe if something happens?”

“Sure thing, Snowcone. We’ve got cameras all over this place. You even look like you’re gonna go all psycho, we’ll get guards in here on the double.”

“Then I’m staying.” Bucky tightened his grip on Steve’s wrist. Stark nodded his approval, and Banner smiled at them both. He’d promised Steve he wasn’t going anywhere. It had been against his better judgment, to be sure, but promises to Steve were more sacred than any holy vow to Bucky. He’d broken enough of them, he wasn’t going to break this one.

 

The next two days were utterly nerve-wracking for Bucky. It was exactly like when they were kids, and Steve got sick. Bucky kept flashing back to when he’d been nine, and Steve had caught rheumatic fever. Thankfully, his hands never started shaking and jerking, the way they had that time. Instead, when he finally woke up, he had massive coughing fits and sometimes his heart was in danger of failing. Bucky alerted them twice, even before the machines started to register anything, when Steve’s heart started to give out. Someone would come running immediately, and give him a new injection of… something. They said they were trying to work out a counter-serum, but the doctor in charge was hesitant to use it- afraid it would make things worse.

The doctors were in and out every few hours, running tests. Steve winced every time, and Bucky remembered how much he hated needles.

“You squirm like this when Erskine gave you the treatment?” Bucky asked after the third time a doctor had come in to draw blood.

“Too many needles to squirm,” Steve admitted with a laugh.

“Hmm.” Bucky watched yet another doctor come in, thankfully without a syringe or a needle. This one ran some odd scanner device over Steve, frowned, and walked away without saying anything.

“Wonder what that’s for,” Bucky said. The guy kept doing that, once every two hours on the dot.

“Probably for something Tony’s cooked up. I’m surprised he hasn’t used this chance to run experiments on me.”

“Who says he isn’t?” Bucky asked, glancing up at the two-sided mirror that separated Steve’s room from the lab where the doctors were working. “He’s got enough of your blood, and who knows what he’s got them putting in the IV?”

Steve huffed a laugh, which turned into a coughing fit. Bucky talked him through it, imagining ways to get back at Stark for any experiments he tried to run. He’d learned pretty quickly that the fastest way to calm Steve down and stop the fits was to press both his hands to Steve’s pulse points and talk to him. He told Steve about searching out the Hydra bases, and his thoughts on Stark and Wilson and Banner. He talked about his memories, the missing pieces, how he had started to remember. He never talked about being the Winter Soldier, but eventually he told Steve about his worries for his safety.

“Idiot,” Steve said fondly, smiling weakly. “You won’t hurt me. If nothing else, Tony has this place wired to react before you can blink. We’ll be ok.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and he actually believed it. Steve was recovering, and he felt like maybe he was too. Maybe Steve’s optimism was catching, but he thought maybe the worst was behind them both. “We will be.”


End file.
